


To Catch a Tiger

by MorganShay



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: 1970s, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Bronze Age (Comics), Denial of Feelings, Domestic Avengers, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fights, Getting Together, Heartache, I'm Sorry, Jack Kirby (Marvel), Making Love, Manhattan, Marvel Universe, Minor Character(s), New York, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Suspense, Team Dynamics, Teamwork, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganShay/pseuds/MorganShay
Summary: A canon-divergent tale set in the late 70s of the Marvel Bronze Age:     Donna Maria Puentes, the spirited and beautiful ally Captain America met during his encounter with the nightmarish Arnim Zola, has joined the ranks of the Avengers.   Not as a mere receptionist; for Donna Maria has become this continuity's high-flying Ms. Marvel.   And although Cap seems to have forgotten the sparks that once flew between them, she has not!   An Avenger fights for what they know is right --  and Donna Maria plans to do no less.  Sharon Carter has had her chance and those flames are plainly beginning to flicker.  Yet Steve Rogers is a man of strong integrity and unwavering loyalty. She knows she must bring him to her in a way that doesn't flout those qualities.   So her work is cut out for her.   Unfortunately, the machinations of a subtle, diabolical enemy aren't going to be put on hold just to accommodate her schemes of seduction.This one bears an Explicit rating for some detailed erotic situations. People and plot are the focus, and it strives to read something like a well rounded novel.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Donna Maria Puentes, Steve Rogers/Other(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, what the hey - ? Well, I needed something on which to practice writing is the short of it. Something that didn't require a lot of world building, and offered a ready cast of vivid characters. Marvel comics are among my earliest roots in fiction -- dad read from his collection to my brother and I during our childhood. Scenes, concepts and those so iconic characters imprinted themselves on my imagination. Still there today, probably will be forever. 
> 
> And I've an odd soft-spot for support characters; those I see as having quite a bit of untapped potential. I get this jones once in a while to explore the personality, the life, of one who caught my attention but never got enough time or focus to satisfy my interest.
> 
> Donna Maria Puentes featured in the original Captain America series, issues 206 - 212.* Latina, back when you didn’t see many Hispanics or Latin Americans in comics, save as stereotype bad guys or maids. Donna Maria was full of vigor, eager to help and support. Disinclined to take crap from even a nightmare baddie the likes of Arnim Zola, whom she does her untrained best to foil. Open about being frightened, yet never too cowed to take action. She and Cap rely heavily on one another, which draws them closer, and things heat up at several points. Cap flirts in a way that seems unusual for him, in fact. Giving a sense he kind of can’t help himself with Donna Maria, in spite of his commitment to Sharon Carter. However it is Sharon he goes back to, notwithstanding their relationship is rocky at the time. Had Jack Kirby not left Marvel shortly after, perhaps Donna Maria would've got the chance I feel she so deserved. Some part of me _still_ felt cheated, after all these years, and yearned strongly to put things right. (*This is a fantastic site for reading old issues of most anything, though a good ad blocker is recommended: https://readcomiconline.to/ )
> 
> This tale's title comes from the nickname bestowed on Cap by Donna Maria, as she begins to hope he will be the man who can break Hector Santiago, her prison-overlord cousin. I desired to keep the time period consistent with those old issues for a short list of reasons. The 70s were my parents' teens and early twenties, so I know a fair bit secondhand. Hate all you will - and there may be some good reasons - in the end I could not resist setting this tale in that decade. 
> 
> Now Donna Maria _did_ need powers: Hell, with her spirit and moxie, she earned and deserved them. And the plot was better served with her being a full fledged Avenger. She needed _enough_ to be a worthy member of that team - but not so much as to overshadow the classic, core characters. In checking out the Avengers' roster back in the day, I spotted a particular character and thought _perfect_.
> 
> So Carol Danvers - you're fired as Ms. Marvel. Eh, no offense - you're taking one for the tale. Your early, more modest power set was way too suitable. Something like a very scaled down Super-girl, with precognitive ability I immediately began to imagine plot hooks around. And that second costume of yours - so much what I could see Donna Maria putting together, in trying to keep a certain captain's head turned her way. We are changing the color scheme, however - the costume (including boots and gauntlets) is true red (striking on someone like her who has what's known as dark-winter coloring - better contrast with her black hair), the bolt emblem white, and the sash blue. Yes - she’s deliberately taken the colors of her adopted home, as well as those of the man she’s working hard to win. 
> 
> No - this is not the origin story. That origin is similar to Carol's in the comics, centering around a Kree psyche-magnitron. Captain America replaces Captain Mar-Vell in its events, and the machinations of AIM replace Yon-Rogg. I've got the bones of it in my head; who knows, perhaps one day I will write it. But it wasn't where I felt inspired to begin.

Early October, 1978 :: 

The mellow light of early autumn streamed through the bow windows of Avengers Mansion. Out beyond the panes, a soft breeze stirred the leaves which had just begun to tinge this past week. Gradually taking on the fiery, striking colors of a season she'd beheld in pictures, but never before experienced firsthand. Back in the place where she had lived the majority of her life, it was still _invierno_. The Central American winter that was defined not by low temperatures, but instead by its abundant rainfall. It was most aptly called the _wet-season_ in fact; in contrast to the only _other_ season which was _dry_ and regarded as summer. Here in New York, rain and other phenomena of weather were harder to predict. And while that was more interesting, it was also at times vexing when you realized your wardrobe was insufficient for the next few days, let alone the month. Although she was now able to tolerate a rather broad range of climate, she still needed to look the part of a regular citizen in her time spent outside the mansion. And that included being clad appropriately for the weather. _Not_ that having an excuse to indulge in a bigger array of styles and outfits was a problem, exactly. She'd ever been a bit of what people over here referred to as a _clothes-horse_. 

And too, there was _someone_ whom she was very much dressing _for_... 

Donna Maria broke from her reverie and window-gazing, upon realizing someone else was joining her. Before she turned to look, the distinct, unnaturally even voice of the android Avenger told her it was him: 

“Donna Maria. How do you fare this late morning-?” 

“Oh, hey Vizh! I cannot complain at all. I'm still just very thrilled to be here. Residing in this wonderful home, during a magnificent time of year. And being made welcome by this amazing team. Not to mention the _incredible_ food! Though I've got to watch it now. Ah, I've _always_ watched it. But now that I wear the costume of a superheroína, I must watch it _more_.” 

Yes -- Donna Maria Puentes had become the newest addition to the ranks of the Avengers: the high-flying Ms. Marvel. And a lot of consideration had gone into that costume. Because she wished to make a dramatic impression on the public of her adopted home, certainly. But as much so -- _okay more, more_ \-- on the one for whom she truly dressed to impress. 

Vision smiled. This team member -- it had taken a bit of getting used to. The closest she’d ever met to a synthetic man before coming here were the monstrosities of Arnim Zola. While the Vision was certainly not of their horrid ilk, he was different than a human being. The eyes and the voice in particular were a little unnerving, at first. Having gotten to know him some, she'd come to enjoy his company. Even able to understand what Wanda saw in him, although her own heart was firmly allocated elsewhere. 

“Wanda has expressed a similar concern from time to time. One that as a synthezoid I needn’t worry about -- though I can grasp the desire to present a good image, with so many eyes upon us.” 

“I’ve never minded a little attention, you know," she remarked while nodding. "But I was unprepared for anything like becoming an Avenger.” 

“You’ve been a great help thus far. With Thor on indefinite hiatus, Iron Man temporarily away, our ranks did need some bolstering. I must say you’ve adjusted well to superheroing, and done so fairly quickly.” 

“Some of it is surprisingly natural for me. It seems to have to do with the way I got my powers. As best Mr. Stark and Dr. Pym can tell me, that _psyche-magnitron…thing_ provided the instincts, the know-how, of an experienced fighter. Which has been helpful. I’ve always been something of a scrapper, but against the likes of the last guy we fought…” 

It was the Vision's turn to nod. “Crusher Creel is a formidable adversary, a true threat. One that required a highly coordinated effort on our part to put a stop to.” He glanced toward the clock that adorned the southern wall. “Well, it’s time for me to relieve Henry McCoy from monitor duty, so he can get some sleep. Wanda has a plan to go shopping, as well as visit one of her favorite cafes. I’m rather certain she would welcome the company, if you feel inclined to get out at all.” 

“Mm. You know, I just may. That sounds pretty good.” She paused. “Eh.. you haven’t seen Cap this morning, have you?” 

The Vision canted his head faintly. Though his demeanor changed not a whit, that unwavering observation of his somehow gave the impression he perceived the reason behind her question. _Damn it, some of them are coming to suspect, I'm afraid!_ The thought would make her face tinge red like his if she dwelled upon it. 

“No,” he responded, “I have not. Is there some communication I can pass on, if I do?” 

_Sure. Ask him what I can do to rekindle what was beginning to smolder, when we met in Rio de Muerte, and while we aided one another in getting out alive from Zola’s hellish home._ “No… no, thank you. I’ll just talk to him in person, whenever I see him.” 

With an inclining of his head, the Vision left her. She watched him go, as he went on his way to take the Beast's place on monitor. Donna Maria then sighed, crossing her arms in some frustration, some annoyance. _And yes - just a little sadness too._

She was sure… _damn_ sure that Steve Roger’s attraction to her had been real and strong. She'd felt so certain something would happen… but then, _nothing._ There was of course the matter of Ms. Sharon Carter. Yet he'd had that commitment when they first met, and it did not stop him from flirting. There were issues, she knew -- their quarreling more and more frequent -- in-person visits and dates too _in_ frequent to sustain a healthy relationship. Her perception was while they had some degree of love for one another, they were not any longer _in love_. The fireworks were no longer shooting off -- and, if there was any man who deserved some fireworks in his love life, it was Captain America. She smirked slightly at her jest, knowing well she was by no means ready to give up. Had only heightened her resolve:

 _I'm told an Avenger fights for what's right. Well, you're right for me, Mr. Steven Rogers. And I have not yet begun to fight!_

* * * * * * * * * 

An outing with Wanda turned out to be in the cards. With the mansion situated right on Fifth Avenue, all they had needed to do was travel along to reach its plethora of prestigious stores. Having finished an initial round of shopping, the pair found themselves in the midst of a break at the bustling and popular Cosmo’s Cafe. Where, to her relief and delight, Donna Maria discovered they knew how to brew coffee properly, unlike some of the other swill she'd gotten while outside the mansion. Probably, she should have known her companion would settle for nothing less, what with her European roots. 

“Mm, this is good,” Wanda remarked, replacing the cup on its saucer, smiling at Donna Maria. “I’m so glad you decided to come with me. It's much more fun than shopping solo.” 

“Oh, I love it too, Wanda. I cannot believe all the wonderful stores, just up the same street from us. That's more than convenient. There were a number of things I had no chance to take with me, given the way I left home.” _Home...Hector's hellish facility in Rio de Muerte was never that! And even where I grew up...it's already becoming harder to think of it that way._ "There are so many, many more styles and brands available here. Of which you will _not_ hear me complain, let me tell you." 

“Ha! Well, I’d say you’re off to a good start in replenishing and building your closet. The skirt and blouse combo you got at Ann Taylor look dynamite on you. And with those heel boots, it makes a perfect outfit.” 

Donna Maria nodded, reflecting not for the first time she found Wanda to be good company. She was grounded, insightful -- but also passionate and fun, with a subtle sort of humor. “Thank you. Having a shopping buddy is a great thing. Especially one who has such nice taste.” 

“Hey, now you’ll just need someone special to wear this stuff for, right?” 

Donna Maria said nothing immediately -- wondering if it were a sort of leading question. If Wanda perhaps like the Vision suspected; if they might even have spoken of it. “Once I get more settled in, I’ll work on that. Being on the team is a pretty unique life. Not so compatible with the schedules, the life style, of most others. You are fortunate to have found a husband in one of your teammates.” She raised her cup in regard, before taking a sip. 

Wanda smiled. “We _are_ fortunate -- for a list of reasons. Though of course our relationship came with, and still has, its list of challenges. But love has its way of handling and overcoming those.” 

_Yes, I believe so too -- and those between me and my Tiger are surely not so great as what you faced with an android spouse._ “Vizh is a real gentleman, Wanda. I’ve enjoyed my conversations with him so much. Like you, he is very thoughtful, very insightful.” 

“Thanks! We try. I’m certainly not drawn to the shallow or ill-considering type. That’d never have worked.” 

Steve… _Steve_ was about as far from shallow as one could get. So dedicated to the greater good; so willing to see the best in others. At least when their actions didn’t truly beg a harsher assessment. 

_Ill-considering? Hm..._ In general, usually, no. Steve was of course shrewd where it came to battle tactics -- though on occasion he'd done things she found hard not to see as foolish. Most often born of his courage, his drive to do right. And not in ways which were a turn off for her. Though it had been several times frustrating. Or stressful, out of worrying for him. She'd an idea this might be part of what was holding him in an unsatisfying relationship. If it was so, she would need to be careful not to invalidate his virtues. While also not being too passive in her approach. She would be damned if she’d see this dragged out longer than it must be. Then it already _had_ been. 

Following another sip, Donna Maria found herself proffering “How 'bout we visit the lingerie shop you spoke of? After we finish our java? If I am to become serious about a new love life, the basic assortment I’ve got isn't going to do. Also, I’d like to pick up a good quality night gown.” 

“You’re on DM," enthused Wanda. “ _La Petite Coquette_ , here we come!” 

* * * * * * * * *

As soon as Donna Maria returned to the mansion she knew _exactly_ what she needed. The perfect complement to a day of productive and serious shopping. Making her way into the bathroom, she knelt down next the tub, began to work the crystal faucet knobs. Water crashed onto the white porcelain, and she spent a time twiddling with it, until it was just the right temperature. Satisfied, she returned to the bedroom to take off her bracelets and place them on the vanity. Next unbuttoning her blouse - removing and laying it upon the bed, where she sat in order to slip off her shoes. After which she stood again, undoing her Calvin Klein’s; pushing downward till she could step free. They too were placed on the bed. Striding back to the bathroom, she obtained a pair of phials from the shelf, and from them added the right amount of scented oil and bubble bath. She performed some leisurely stretches till the tub was full, whereupon she shut the faucet off. 

Gushing water reduced to a residual drip, she dealt next with her lingerie, stripping off brassiere followed by panties. Draping both on the rack, she descended into the tub's luxuriating warmth, with a sense of blatant relish. Lastly placing the braid of her hair over front of one shoulder, as she reclined toward the tub's sloped back... 

"Ahh..." 

When she’d had a bad day, she took a bath. When she’d had a good day, like today -- she took a bath. When she’d had a really _great_ day -- well, that depended on what _sort_ of great, and where it had taken her. Her idea of a great day these days would certainly include her Tiger. _Yes - oh yes. Right here in this tub with me. Mmm…_

Images of Steve Rogers filled her mind's eye: _angelic-blond hair, deep blue eyes...set in that chiseled-handsome face, with its lantern jaw and cleft chin. Broad, bulging shoulders...and the ways in which he used those oh so capable hands. The resonant tone of his clear, commanding voice...the musk of him, from perspiration brought on by action, or training..._ It made her start to caress herself -- across her belly; the top and the inside of a thigh, and then one of her breasts. Her nipples had gotten pert -- she lingered and pulled gently on the one, before moving on to other areas. Starting to stroke her flesh more firmly as she did. Donna Maria’s nostrils flared with her deepened breathing. Soon she realized her heat wasn’t going to abate without finding release. She prayed she was not being monitored -- security was tight in the mansion, she knew. _Surely not that tight? Surely not my bathroom? Everyone needs some privacy!_

It was unlikely -- and almost didn't matter -- her passions demanded outlet. Her eyes flew open, intense with desire. She'd reached a point where she wanted to feel something between her legs. Her gaze strayed to the tub's detachable shower-head. Purposefully, she sat up and clicked it from its holder, leaning back once more with her knees flexed and apart. She'd recollected the shower-head's disc had a smooth bulge on its back, where the handle merged into it. It was placed experimentally over her vulva -- against the furrow of her sex. Ever so lightly, she began to press and to rub. Her eyes squeezed closed, as she envisioned Steve’s body atop hers: his mouth at her neck, alternately kissing and nibbling. After a time she was gasping at the fantasy, craving more feeling to support it. She angled and rubbed so the bulge pressed between her outer lips, moving nearer her clitoris. Donna Maria found that by quivering her hand she could produce a pleasing sensation, not unlike a vibrator. She kept at it, diligently.

“ _Ohh_ … ah, mmm…mm...” 

Her utterances mingled with the soft lapping of water, as she worked and worked the makeshift sex-toy. Her free hand went to caress herself again, until it was clasped feverishly over the other on the handle. She quivered it more vigorously, to increase the sensation, panting at the result. In the moment, nothing else existed but her escalating tension and pleasure. Fueled by ardent imaginings of the man she loved... 

_Yes, yes! I do love you, you heroic, handsome stud! You should be mine-! You will be, I - I promise it!_

Donna Maria carried on, hot to reap the rewards of climax. Seized by an urge to change position, she got on her knees, shifting and leaning to prop herself on an arm along the tub's edge. With legs spread she reached down and between to continue in her decadent work. Eventually it became maddening:

“Ahh -- _ahh_ , mm mm, Madre de Dios!” Flipping the head over to the flat of its spray side, she patted her engorged labia in rapid succession. Frustration mounting as she hovered on the brink, but couldn't cross it. It would take more precise stimulation to achieve peak. She went swiftly back onto her rear, sloshing water and suds, shower-head slipping from her fingers. Knees bent and splayed wide, soles of her feet together, one hand clutched the tub while the other snaked for her seething aperture. Finger honing in on just the right spot, she tapped quickly there, as her breathing grew ragged. She changed to a hectic, circular motion; moaning fervidly as her contractions started in earnest. 

Donna Maria lost herself to it utterly -- exulting in the achievement of orgasm.

Afterwards she reposed languorously. Her head tilted back as she took deep, contented breaths. _Oh - I feel so much the better for that!_ Gratification was hers. At least for now. But she did not intend to go on taking her pleasures solo. Oh no - that was not the plan at all. 

* * * * * * * * *

“...so then, this movie is an adventure that is all about rabbits?” Donna Maria nibbled at a particularly good thin-crust, veggie gourmet pizza -- yet another delicious example of why she was usually elated to eat her meals here. She was comfortable on the living room couch, engaged in chat with Henry McCoy - aka the Beast. Who sat equally comfortable in a recliner chair across the mahogany coffee table from her. Like Vision, Henry had required a little getting used to - blue fur, predator-sharp canines and all. And similarly, now that she had, she found his company enjoyable. He was so articulate, and could be very, very funny. 

“Uh yep,” he nodded sagely. “ _Rrrraa -_ bits. _El conejo_ , as you'd say in Espanol. A cony, by any other name! But listen; Watership Down is a pretty deep flick. Not like a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Though, ol’ Bugs has more depth than most credit him for. But this movie touches on the Odyssey, the Aeneid _and_ the works of Joseph Campbell to boot. It’s got a great mix of everything -- cute critters, action, drama, comedy, and oh, _tragedy_.” He mock-wiped tears from his eyes. 

“We furry fauna have got to stick together, you know. Empathize with each other’s trials and travails, in a world where fur makes you a second class citizen. Or dinner.” 

“I see," she said with a smile. "I'll take your word on all of it. It does sound entertaining, Henry. I might just go and watch it. Wanda and I got in a good round of shopping this afternoon, so I’m more prepared than ever to venture out.” 

“Good! The Big Apple’s got tons to offer. Stellar cinema and shows just one small part of it.” 

“Someone told me, while I was out in costume, that I should go see _Starcrash_. Like Star Wars, but better. And the main actress is like me.” 

“Starcrash,” Henry repeated, with a certain expression. “Hm. Er…well, yes, I did in fact see it. Got free tickets. It’s pretty aptly named -- the kind of movie that crashes stars, if ya know what I mean. Like _you_ , huh? I think it’s the thigh-highs she wears. The boots and -- well, never mind. Attire and attributes aside, you're more well spoken than any actress in a B grade flick. Even with English being your second language.” 

“Eh, left handed compliment, as I believe you say over here? That’s still good to know, anyway. So maybe I’ll pass on Starcrash. What I really long to do is go dancing. Have you ever been to Studio 54?” 

“Yes, yes - on two auspicious occasions. Tain't so easy -- not for the ever eager and ordinary folks, anyhow. They lift that rope only for the famous, the outrageous, the beautiful, the unusual. And I do gots three of those in my favor.” 

“Cool! Did you have a great time?” 

“Yeah - kinda. What can I say? The agility is there, but the ol’ anatomy isn’t so well suited. It was fun, but not my element, exactly. _You_ , on the other hand -- I'm sure you'd have a blast! If you went as Ms. Marvel, it'd be a cinch getting in. But I'd give you odds of being able to pull it off as Ms. Puentes, too. And _maybe_ end up gettin' grabbed for Soul Train, or Dance Fever. Jan tells me you’re a natural when it comes to shakin' it down. And she’s no awkward anthropoid herself.” 

Donna Maria waved a hand modestly. “Ah, that’s sweet of her to say. You know we Latin Americans, dance is in our blood. We - “ 

Someone was coming -- and she believed she did recognize those even, confident footsteps. Her pulse quickened a little. And sure enough... 

Steve Rogers was smiling as he entered the room. Dressed casually in denim jeans and jacket, with a white piqué polo shirt beneath. Reflexively, and with seeming nonchalance, she crossed one leg over the other. It was the classic leg stretch; more effective in a skirt yet demonstrative of her flirtatious intent in any case. 

“Good evening, folks. Sorry if I’m interrupting. Coming in for monitor tonight. All quiet on the north-eastern front, so far?” 

She started to reply but Henry spoke first: 

“A completely boring and relaxing day and now evening. The daring Donna Maria and I are talking movies and mirror-ball joints. I'm encouraging her to get out and partake of all the Apple has to offer.” 

“Great,” he said, glancing at her, “New York is a lot of fun, when you aren't duking it out with super-powered psychopaths. Well. I’m going to go get ready, grab some java, and tell whoever has been on duty they’re free to fly.” 

“That’d be the Vision," supplied Henry. "I’ve noted he’s better at sitting quietly and being watchful for hours on end than most of us. But I’m sure he’ll still be _dee_ -lighted to go do something else.” 

“Who wouldn’t, hey?” she interjected. “How has your day been, Steve? Out doing anything fun?” _Not too fun, I hope. And not with Sharon..._

“Well, something very rewarding, Donna Maria. Every few months, I spend an afternoon out at the VA hospital, teaching art to the guys. They seem to enjoy it. And I do too. Creative pastimes, like sketching or painting, are a good way to take your mind off of your issues for awhile.” 

She smiled, genuinely moved that he did such a thing in his scant free time. “You’re a good man. It’s kind of you to do that for them. I’m certain they do appreciate it.” She paused, adding “I’d offer to go sometime, but I do not have a craft to teach.” 

“Hey, trust me, they’d be happy to see you anyway,” Henry put in jocularly. “Right Cap?” 

Steve chuckled lightly. “Oh sure. I’m going to go get ready now.” He mock-saluted. “As you were, people.” 

“Bye,” she bid him, as he turned and walked away. Henry’s remark made him uncomfortable. She was almost certain of it. 

_Good. I hope you are uncomfortable -- thinking thoughts of me that make you feel guilty, while you still insist on committing to another._ Monitor duty would pin him in the same place for hours. She would easily be able to spend time talking with him tonight. Of a sudden, Donna Maria realized she’d been staring after him. And that Henry was looking at her quizzically. 

“There’s something I wanted to ask him,” she lied, trying to make it seem other than what had likely been obvious. “But it can wait.” 

The Beast bobbed his head, in a polite but vaguely patronizing manner. It seemed to convey in the way a wink might that he saw through her. She was beginning to grow paranoid that _most_ of her teammates suspected. 

_Not_ that it was going to swerve her from her heart’s desire, even if it _was_ the truth. 

* * * * * * * * *

After concluding the conversation with Henry, Donna Maria ascended the stairs to her room, there to consider tactics. Specifically what she was and was not going to do as regards her _appearance_. 

Changing into a different outfit - which was to say a sexier outfit - would be blatant. She didn’t want it obvious that she was on the make. Wished to give the impression this next meeting was spontaneous, even though it would not be. She considered her costume, supposing Steve might don his. It _was_ a sexier outfit, one she wouldn't need to justify. However, she’d been hanging out in her civies, and it didn’t really make sense she’d slip into uniform now. She could make up a pretext about going for a fly -- that or doing some rounds in the training room. But didn’t truly want to do either, and it seemed too contrived. Glancing into the mirror, she decided to wear her hair loose, and proceeded to undo it. Coiling up the ribbon that had been part of the braid, then replacing it inside the accessories box on her vanity. She did some smoothing with fingers and comb, and once done, got out the perfume she'd bought today. _Tatiana by Diane von Furstenberg - ‘For the woman who’s ready to start something’ - how fitting is that?_ \- She applied a conservative amount to her wrists, and at the bottom of her throat. Finally, upon touching up her lipstick, checking her reflection from several angles, Donna Maria deemed she was ready. 

A brief walk from her room and back downstairs brought her to the doorway of the monitoring station. Steve -- who was now clad in costume, with the cowl down -- half-turned to glance at her as she came in. 

“Hello,” he greeted her simply, the smile friendly if a bit reserved. 

“Hello,” she returned. Her view from the angle he’d turned to her led her to think: _I shall never grow tired of the way that costume shows off those arms, and that proud chest._ It brought to mind the fantasizing she had done in the bathtub. Donna Maria did her best to put that from her mind; her cheeks would surely color if she did not. She gave a slight, single wave of a hand. 

“Everyone else is busy with something. That or resting. No one is around to talk to. Do you mind a little company while you monitor?” 

He shook his head “No, not in the least. Please, pull up a chair,” gesturing in the direction of the available seats. 

She did, then situated herself some distance to his right. Not close enough to invade his space in a tacky way. But about as near as she figured she could get away with without doing so. 

“So...Ms. Marvel. Still content with your life as an Avenger?” 

“Oh, yes.” It was nothing but the truth. “Very much so.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s not exactly for everyone. The risk...the danger...is substantial. But, the team makes a truly significant difference in the world.” 

Donna Maria settled more comfortably, crossing one leg over the other as she’d done in the living room. Angling toward him in a way she hoped gave a good view of her own assets, yet also came across as natural and unaffected. Again her reply was truthful. And she found herself glad that she could simply be honest: 

“Mm. You know Steve, my life before the Avengers -- before you -- it was lacking in purpose. At least any which fulfilled me. I filled my days, my months, with various goals, pursuits and work. But there was always a feeling I could do more, be more. And now that I’m an Avenger - a superhero in my own right - I feel, for the first time, I’m where I should be. Where I need to be.” 

He smiled again. Less reservedly this time “I understand. Certainly, you had the spirit, the courage of a superheroine even before you gained the power to back it up. Not everyone would have placed their life at risk, to defend a foreigner and a stranger, in the way you did with me.” 

“My cousin was a terrible man. I couldn’t truly oppose him by myself, not before I had my powers. But I didn’t think twice about aiding one who I knew _could_ put a stop to his cruelty.” She smiled. “I’m not suicidal. I love life too much. But my sense of what’s right is strong, and I must do as it bids me. I would hate myself, otherwise. And that’s no way to live.” 

“No -- that it is not.” He paused. “You’ve made a valuable addition to the Avengers. I’m more than pleased you’re here with us. Just so long as you honestly grasp the degree of risk. Your cousin Hector _was_ a terrible man. But the Avengers face worse devils, who wield far greater power.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, and I’ve not met some already? Zola, for that matter -- worse than Zola? I’ve little doubt some may be -- but he and his creations were a _nightmare_ , and I stood with you even without powers, and in spite of being very afraid.” 

He smirked some. “You sure you're not suicidal, lady?” 

_No -- I’m in love, you handsome ass!_ “I’m sure. And what about you? I mean, you don’t have the sheer power of some Avengers. You’re closer to being a normal man than that. Yet it doesn’t stop you -- you’re out on the front line, being courageous, risking yourself continually.” 

“Hm. I do believe training, experience, and skill compensate for a good amount of raw power. Not to mention a shield that can deflect most attack forms. Sometimes, though -- sometimes I do think about my own mortality -- and which fight might be my last.” He shrugged. “And Sharon brings up the subject more and more of late.” 

She never enjoyed hearing that name. But it was an opportunity to edge nearer the matter she _really_ wanted to address and handle: 

“I’ve overhead you mention that before. Naturally, she worries about you.” _Carefully -- fish out how he really feels, without making him think you’re trying to maneuver him, or have a vested interest here._ “And as you said, this game is a dangerous business. Do you want to walk away from it?” 

He was silent a time, while he gazed at the monitor screens. He answered without turning back to look at her. 

“No. At this time, I don’t. It would be wrong. I couldn’t feel right about doing that.” 

_Good. If you were in love, you’d at least be considering it, for her sake._ “And I understand that. As I said, I’m a great believer in acting on what we know to be right. And I’m also an Avenger, if but a very new one. Sharon has her career with SHIELD. But it’s not the same as being part of a team such as this.” 

He shook his head. “No. That is true. It’s not.” 

“You know, I went out with Wanda today, and did some shopping. I love her -- she’s so great to spend time with. So insightful, and nice.” 

“She is that. Core part of the Avengers, too. She helped me hold things together at a time when the team was suddenly without all of its original, as well as its most powerful, members.” 

“That’s amazing. I must confess, I didn’t know what to make of her marriage to the Vision when I first got here. Now, I really, really admire their relationship. Envy it a bit, to be honest. It’s very special, very endearing. They’re different, in so many ways. But their strong dedication to this team is like a cornerstone for what they’ve built as a couple.” 

“Yes...Wanda and Vizh have a pretty rare sort of love, all right.” 

“When it’s right, it’s right. There is no denying. And when it isn’t…that's hard to deny also.” 

Steve said nothing, didn’t look at her, while he adjusted a pair of monitor dials. Donna Maria’s lips may not have smiled but her thoughts were the mental equivalent of one: _His silence is a most telling answer._ A few moments went by. If he was finding that silence awkward at all, that was alright with her. She -- 

Steve frowned, his expression growing serious. A particular ruby colored light illuminated the console. And Donna Maria knew well what it signified. She stayed quiet, awaiting him to fill her in, which she was sure he would. He swiveled his chair to regard her directly, fully, as he’d not done up till this point. 

“In the Adirondack Mountains -- about two hundred and fifty miles north of us -- there’s a specialized Department of Energy facility, _Project Pegasus_. Unusual and advanced energy sources are reviewed and researched there. They’ve got a security issue -- there’s been a breach, in fact. _Who_ did the breaching is unclear. But let’s just say, the kind of systems they have aren’t bypassed by even a five star burglar. And it’d be dumb to do unless they have _power_ to defend themselves, and take what they want.” 

Donna Maria had gone to her feet with the words _"security issue."_ She turned and began hurrying out, while calling back to Steve as she went: “I’ll go get suited up!” 

“Hurry it up! I’ll let the rest know, and then we’re out of here, asap!” 

Ms. Marvel was no longer on her feet; she was now moving more swiftly than they could carry her, above the mansion’s floor.


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the adventure portion of the story. Led by Cap, the Avengers advance into the heart of a security compromised Project Pegasus, there to face off against several enemies. And to ultimately raise more questions than answers...

The same evening, a short flight later ::

The Adirondack Mountains extended southwards from the St. Lawrence River Valley and Lake Champlain toward the Mohawk River Valley. They were settled but sparsely. Much of the area existed in a primitive and natural state, under the protection of New York state law. The region was circular in its outline and made a suitable locale for an operation the likes of Project Pegasus. The Avengers quinjet had alighted upon a plateau about a quarter mile west of the facility. A mostly full moon was aloft, draping the buildings and other construction that comprised Pegasus in soft, silver-white. A mild but persistent breeze blew from the east, gently stirring dust as well as the tresses of the Scarlet Witch, the Wasp, and Ms. Marvel. 

As the rest of the team - which included the Vision, the Beast, and Captain America - Donna Maria was taking in what could be seen from their vantage point -- looking for any signs of trouble, damage, or this breach that had been reported. They'd lost all communication with the facility after take off, which only increased the urgency of this already red-priority situation. She had half anticipated to see smoke and flames during their approach, but there was nothing of the like. Everything appeared quite pristine in fact, if a bit surreal bathed in the exquisite moonlight. The great domes in particular -- _geodesic_ was the English term for them, if she recollected right -- minded her of the sci-fi movie _Logan’s Run,_ that she'd enjoyed watching with Henry and Jan one evening. 

“This doesn’t surprise me," said Cap. "Whatever is going on here tonight is part of a careful plan, someone’s purposeful agenda. Obvious external damage has no part in anything like that. Okay crew, let’s make our descent, just as we planned. And then see if we can get in using the overrides.” 

Unlike everyone else Cap had been to the facility before. Had assisted with other security issues in fact. Thus he knew the codes to get through significant access points, including the emergency exit he intended to make use of. He told them: "This will take us inside an area unlikely to be immediately near anything anybody would want to steal, yet fairly central to the most likely targets." It sounded a logical approach. Before long they had arrived at the portal, found that indeed the overrides still worked, and subsequently made their way inside. 

* * * * * * * * * 

Donna Maria walked the sterile, metallic corridor with Cap and the other Avengers till it opened into a small room. One that formed a juncture with two other hallways. Within were what appeared to be a pair of guards -- clad in navy and grey uniforms -- lying sprawled out on the floor. The Beast advanced and knelt by first one and then the other, checking vitals in addition to other details. He was utilizing his keen senses in combination with his knowledge of biochemistry, which Donna Maria had seen him do before. He attempted to waken gently both men, which did not meet with any success, though it did cause one to murmur incoherently. Henry regarded the team collectively: 

“They’re... _stunned_. Not in a way that suggests any permanent harm, that they won’t wake up eventually. But for the time being, they are out like the proverbial light.” 

“Wanda, can’t you do something to wake them?” inquired the Wasp. 

“I...don’t know. There’s no real injury to focus upon and affect. If it seems they’re going to be okay later, then I’m reluctant to tamper.” 

“Okay. In that case, let’s move onward,” said Cap. “The longer we delay the greater the odds someone may do the same to _us_.” 

A passage out of the room was then selected, based on Cap’s knowledge of Pegasus’ layout. After trekking down a similar but longer corridor, the team emerged into a large chamber. Against the far wall off to their right was situated a bank of computer systems -- the jewel-like lights of its instrumentation glowing steadily, as though nothing at all was amiss. Operationally speaking, at least. High overhead were gleaming, covered catwalks -- as well as a central, large and beautifully crafted mobile sculpture -- its delicate-looking parts gently animate from the air currents of the facility’s AC. After taking it in for a moment, Donna Maria felt impelled to remark: 

“I do hope all this research for new and unusual energy will one day have results. The sort of money it took to build this place would feed many hungry people, even _without_ a new energy source.” 

Cap glanced her way, as though he might offer some response or retort, but didn’t. “That door over there,” he pointed with a crimson-gauntleted hand, “We’re going that way. It will head us toward their R&D labs and the storage units.” 

It was hardly the time to have thoughts of such things...yet she couldn’t help but think she did love it when he was directing the team. Confident, composed. Efficient, but never domineering or blustering. _God knows, I beheld enough bad command in Hector's employ to be able to appreciate and admire the better sort._

* * * * * * * * * 

A bit more trekking led to discovering more of the prone guards, in a condition identical to the first two. They had now entered a long and rectangular shaped room. The middle segment of the wall on their right was transparent as glass, though surely made of something far more durable. It looked out onto an immaculately cared for and quite lovely garden. The Vision, who'd been largely silent to this point, spoke: “Perhaps it would be a good idea if I were to scout out ahead of us, in my intangible form. It would likely speed this process up. And many sorts of attacks would not be an issue for me.” 

Cap considered, then nodded his approval. “I think you’re right.” He provided a description of what was out beyond their present location and the probable target areas to check. 

“Intangible or no, be cautious darling,” Wanda exhorted her husband. 

The Vision smiled -- it was a definitively human expression and reaction. “Of course.” 

Donna Maria couldn’t help but smile some too. _Synthetic his body may well be, but his heart is alive and --_

A swift hissing sound immediately snipped her thoughts. The door at the room’s other end had slid abruptly open, followed by an _explosion._ Not the sort produced by a bomb -- no, it was a densely concentrated _blast_ of minute, _stinging_ particles, which blinded and cut off speech by leaving no option _but_ to tightly close one's eyes and mouth. There was also enough concussive impact that Donna Maria found herself taken off of her feet. Striving to reorient and recover from the shock, she couldn’t shake the notion that what she’d been hit with, what had been _dumped_ on her was… 

_...a bunch of sand_? 

She shook it off, was near instantly back on her feet, wiping at face and eyelids to clear her sight as swiftly as she could. It was most certainly _sand_ she beheld through her clearing eyes. But what mattered far more immediately was the state of those teammates who were less innately resilient. It appeared the Vision had reacted quickly and largely shielded his wife -- Wanda stood behind him, seeming to be okay. And Jan -- Donna Maria heard the telltale humming of her wings overhead -- and figured she must have escaped by virtue of size and keeping near to the ceiling. 

“Suckers!” The tone of the voice was at once sighing as well as abrasive. It originated from no discernible place. 

“It’s _got_ to be the Sand-ma..” Cap started to say, when suddenly the sandy, stinging maelstrom began anew -- 

_God damn it!_ She gasped at the intensity of it; a degree of fear setting in upon realizing _breathing_ was going to become an issue. _How in hell do we fight someone like this --_ And then of a sudden the onslaught began to lessen, to abate. 

Pressed up against the back of her husband for cover -- his density altered, increased vastly to resist the storm -- Wanda had an arm out, her hand aglow with the eerie light that betokened the use of her hex-power. 

“Fuckin’ sonofa bitch!” grated the voice that had spoken previously. It now plainly emanated from a _head_ that took shape from the mostly stilled sand -- which was nonetheless _aggregating_ down near where the door was, off to their right. 

“How the _shit_ did you cut me off just like -- ahh, who gives a piss! You sure didn’t take away _all_ my power!” The sand had coalesced into a humanoid form -- bulky and broad -- one arm forming a massive sledge hammer, which descended toward them as the Sandman _charged_. 

Cap and the Beast were already in motion, as Ms. Marvel too was reacting, flying to evade -- when Wanda again wielded her mysterious and highly effective power. The atmosphere about their adversary became perceptibly _moist_ , and then he was turning grey -- his form losing definition, becoming sludge-like -- _muddied_ \-- till he collapsed in an undignified heap in front of them. 

“Arhh, no,” he slurred. “Thish cahn be happnin’ -- howsh didju --” 

Wanda stepped out from behind the Vision. “Flint Marko, your power may be a threat to many -- but you’ve bit off more than you can chew in facing a mutant who alters probabilities, and has been trained by a _true_ witch. The raw elements of nature are among the easiest things for me to affect.” 

“Good work, Wanda,” Cap nodded to her. He addressed the great lump of mud that yet had an ill defined face and head, as well as the vestige of limbs:

“She can do _much_ worse to you, Marko,” Cap threatened, “And _will_ , if you refuse to explain exactly what’s going on here.” 

The muddy Marko thing smiled lopsidedly, in a gross parody of natural, human expression. “Heyy, I’m a reeshonable guy. ‘Coursh, I ain’t here… ba myshalf. Na -- I wouldn’t be the brainsh of shomethin’ like … _thish_.” 

“Then _who_? Your usual conniving task-master -- the Wizard?” 

Marko made a splooching sort of sound that was probably a laugh. “The -- Wisjherd -- aw, hell no. And you’ll -- you’ll nev-er gueshj. Do -- yer fuckin’ worsht. Worsjh for me, if I - I shqueal.” 

Donna Maria was unclear if the bit about doing worse had been a bluff. Though she did not particularly doubt Wanda was potentially capable. 

Cap glanced toward the Scarlet Witch. “How long will he remain hydrated like this?” 

“I can't say for sure. An hour, at least.” 

“Avengers don’t stoop to torture, Marko. But you’re being a fool and a moron as usual. Both Ben Grimm and Spider-Man tell me they don’t believe you’re as morally bankrupt as you like to play at." Cap shrugged. "Why not choose to do the right thing, for once?” 

“Ahh-hashj,” again a sound suggestive of a laugh. “Yah. I shcould be a reel bleejdin’ heart boyshcout, ahright. Shure. But, _not_ thisj time. Sho get the fuck awtta my facej, awready, if ya got no ballsh for wringin' it awtta me.” 

“What was done to the Pegasus guards and staff?” 

“Jus’ shtunned. A kinda feed-bak, through ther ear-monitorsh. Dunno how ta ‘shplain that shit.” 

“Cap, I believe I should go ahead with what I proposed,” said the Vision. 

“Do it. But be cautious, like Wanda said.” 

The Vision inclined his head in acknowledgment. His body became semi-translucent and he arose wraith like -- traveling upward and passing straight through the ceiling. 

“Let’s get going,” Cap told everyone else, indicating the open doorway in their path. 

As they went forward toward that exit, Donna Maria found herself the object of Marko's appraisal. His mud-caricature features contorting into a leer: 

“ _Daahmn_ , bahby! Mish Mahvel, ain't ya? That shweet bod o’ yersh is a mahvel, thasjh fer shure! Hey, Cap! You gettin’ sum o’ thajt? Ya better get on thajt, ‘fore Tony Shtark beajts ya to it. Or mebee the Beasht. Ahjahhja!” 

Donna Maria rolled her eyes and snorted. “Dirt - by any other name.” _Though I’ve no problem with Steve hearing that advice._

“Oh, his name is most definitely _Mud_ ,” chimed the Beast. “I’d tell you to dry up, Marko, but we’re pretty okay with you being mouthy, as long as you're _also_ muddy. See ya - wouldn't wanna be ya!” Henry vigorously shook residual sand from his coat, before he bounded on ahead. 

Donna Maria frowned, realizing in disgust that it - _him!_ \- must surely be in her hair as well. She ran her hands through her locks, shook her head, while moving along with the others. Marko’s ranting and raving faded, ceased to be audible, as they progressed further and further down the current hallway. It wasn’t so very long before they encountered the next opposition. 

“Up ahead, dear folks,” the Beast abruptly informed. “Something wicked this way comes! Something _plastic_ , from the way it smells!”

They all began to hear the footfalls at that point. Multiple enemies. Quite a number it sounded, in fact. She did not recognize the featureless, army-green humanoids now rushing at them through the door at the hall’s end. They were not in any of the Avengers’ files she thus far had studied. Cap identified them: 

“Those are the Thinker’s androids! Be wary, people! They may be vanilla 'droids _or_ augmented in some way!” 

That advice rendered, the team was compelled into combat. The so-called androids -- who'd none of the human-like distinctiveness of the Vision -- hurtled at them with greater than human speed. They were stronger too, she didn’t doubt. _That’s okay - I’m faster and stronger too. Much!_

The battle was joined: 

Ms. Marvel found herself confronted by a pair of them sprinting her way -- one some distance behind the other. She vaulted _upward_ , somersaulting over their heads. And as she came down behind the trailing one, she kicked both legs out straight, slamming her feet into its back. The impact sent that android crashing into the one in front with terrific force -- the damaged pair careening down the hall where they landed twitching, sparking and inert.

“Ms. M! You fight as good as you play cards!” the Beast called out while deftly evading an assailant, then knocking its head loose with a well placed, bludgeoning blow. He was referencing the ongoing, weekly poker games that some of the team engaged in at Avengers Mansion.

“Thanks! And so do you!” she acknowledged with a grin. In turn referencing that she had bested him in the last _three_ games -- with a royal flush in that last hand no less. 

“Oh for shame! For _shame!_ Low, _low_ , blow!” So said, Beast dealt another incoming android a _low blow_ \-- straight to its synthetic gut, sending it sprawling and ruined.

Donna Maria dodged the next attack with grace, and dealt that one a crippling punch. Then spared some attention to see how the team was faring -- Wanda gestured with a pale, crimson glow and several androids went down -- while the Wasp performed effective sniping, protected by her diminutive size and maneuverability. And Cap was as amazing as usual: a red, white and blue blur of battle-efficiency, his gleaming shield alternately defending and damaging -- decapitating the nearest opponent. 

She didn't hold herself a violent person. Not with where she’d been born, and some of the things she'd heard about or seen. Not after the time spent working at Hector’s private prison, being witness to the kind of brutality her sadist cousin had favored. Yet Donna Maria would have been lying to herself to pretend she didn’t enjoy _this._ Fighting the good fight for _just_ reasons -- and being a part of this team.

“Hey faceless, mind the face!”

Cap’s shield interposed to deflect a blow coming in from her right, aimed at her head, while she’d not been paying as much attention as she should. “Ay! Glad you care, mi capitán!” She laced her fingers together to make a single fist, in order to strike a pendulum sort of blow, that she’d seen other heroes do. It demolished the android’s torso and flung it away from her. 

Still more of them came on. “This is a delay tactic!” Cap called out. “But there has to be an end! So let’s get it done fast!”

And so they fought on until -- perhaps less than ten minutes later -- what was apparently the last of the androids was grabbed and hefted overhead by the Beast, then summarily slammed into a wall. They traveled on afterward, striving to be as ready as possible for whatever might lay ahead of them.

* * * * * * * * * 

As the quintet of Avengers penetrated deeper into the facility, it was seen that the more sparse and bare surrounds were giving way to functional and apparently administrative oriented areas. More of the stunned personnel were discovered and some of them were beginning to stir. 

“I wish Vision would come back,” Wanda put in as they hurried along. “It may be too early to worry...but I’m starting to.”

 _There are up and downsides to Avenging with your spouse,_ reflected Donna Maria. _Or just someone you love. I’ve been using this as a means to be closer to Steve. Yet if I do finally get what I seek, what would living with those downsides be like?_ She recalled all too well the heart tearing stress of seeing him blinded and injured, during the perilous escape from Zola’s awful abode. And that had been when she hardly knew him at all. 

_How much worse once feelings have grown deep roots?_ And: _Does he worry for me? As one cannot help but do, if there really is love?_

“Don’t worry yet,” Cap attempted to soothe Wanda. “But the sooner we can reunite, the better.”

It happened that reunion wasn’t far in the future. Entering a sizable, hexagon shaped chamber, an unsettling scene came into view. Unsettling for Wanda in particular. Beneath a dome of transparent, pinkish tinted force, the Vision lay prostrate and still. Less than ten feet off to the left of it, stood a leering, mostly red figure -- humanoid, yet not quite human. Where his right hand might have been was instead a gleaming, bell-shaped device. More awful were the pair of large, wolf like creatures; their lupine features and coats all varying shades of red. No less menacing for crouching perfectly and eerily still. Their potential savagery held in check for the moment, apparently on the whim of their master. 

Unlike the Sandman or the Thinker’s androids, Donna Maria knew something of this one. From an incident Wanda once told her about, and from the archives: _Klaw_... an avaricious, cold-blooded technologist who - not unlike Zola - cast aside his humanity in a mad pursuit of power. _Sound_ was his terrible weapon -- such complete and thorough mastery that he could create quasi-living things. As well as down and entrap an Avenger as powerful and hard to touch as the Vision. In addition, another group of androids stood seemingly inert, yet likewise awaiting a command from their master. A shaggy haired, glowering man in a dark-green jumpsuit, standing some distance back, off to the right of his synthetic servants. _This so-named Thinker, it must be..._

It was Klaw who addressed them: 

“Well, well … the accursed Avengers; we meet yet again. So sorry to that see the thundering oaf and the tin-man aren't part of your ranks tonight. My ally assured me they would not be. So, on top of being a bit under powered, you’re also under the disadvantage of our holding _this_ hostage.” He indicated Wanda’s husband with a brief gesture of his single hand. 

“Let him go Klaw!” yelled the Scarlet Witch, “Or, I swear, I’ll make you sorry that -- “ 

“Don’t waste your breath, woman!” Klaw shouted back. “You must raise your hands and focus to use that power of yours. In the time it takes you, I’ll contract that field so tight you’ll be married to nothing but crushed components!” 

“Easy Wanda,” murmured Cap. “Easy. We’ll get him out, I swear.” 

She did _not_ appear consoled. Her expression was a mask of anger, which made less apparent the fear that could yet be noted in her eyes. 

Donna Maria’s heart went out to her. And she braced herself to act upon the instant. Her reflexes were lightning swift, her flight acceleration considerable. She hazarded if it might be possible to slam straight into Klaw, to prevent him from crushing the Vision, if it came to it. 

“Make a move, do anything stupid, and he will be destroyed!” Klaw continued. “Really, the smartest thing you can do is depart, and let us finish what we’re here for. You might even get him back. Our priority this night isn’t killing Avengers.” 

“And what are you here for?” prompted Cap.

“Nothing you need to be informed of, captain. Now turn, clear out of here -- or else he dies, and then my pets and I will kill the rest of you!” 

And of a sudden the Beast … _lost his mind-?_

He did a little dance, broke into song:

 _“I wanna hold your hand, walk along the sand, laughing in the sun, always having fuunnn…”_

“ _Silence_!” snarled Klaw. “Prancing baboon! I warn you …” he leveled his sonic weapon and his great wolves stirred to life, growling and tensing… 

_“Doing all those things, without any strings to tie me down, I wanna be…”_

Henry’s distraction had become plain to Donna Maria some seconds earlier. The Vision had faintly moved, in preparation it seemed. His form now flickered with great rapidity, in a manner she'd not seen before. He reached quickly to touch the field that imprisoned him… 

_“...Freee!!”_ yodeled the Beast. 

*BWOOOM!!* -- There was something like a small, localized sonic boom, as the dome that held the Vision ceased to exist. It left ears ringing, but was otherwise without consequence. And the Vision _was_ free, as well as near instantly soaring aloft.

Ms. Marvel didn’t hesitate, acted upon her earlier thought: hurtling at their momentarily shocked enemy with terrific speed. She shouldered into him before he could evade, sent him flying across the room with her -- but of course his flight wasn't volitional or controlled. Klaw bounced and rolled a number of times prior to coming to a stop. She wasn’t happy to see him get back up, but wasn't unprepared. She hit him twice, fast and hard as she could, in the jaw and gut. It threw him from his feet once more, knocking him further backward -- and again failed to take the fight out of him. 

“ _Don’t_ take him on alone! He’s too much!” It was Cap calling out …who unbeknown to her had slid - with great agility and determination - underneath one of the monster-canines attacking the rest of the team. He was sprinting to make it over toward where she was. It drew her attention off the fight for a split second. And that was all the opening Klaw required. 

“ _Die_ , impudent witch!”

She dove beneath the bolt of raw, pulverizing force shot by Klaw’s sonic horn, but was still shaken by the accompanying, concussive wave. She closed and decked him again; aware by the footfalls that Cap was drawing nearer and... _slowing_. _Looking for the right opening?_

Not bothering to stand, the arch-villain’s ebon, white-pupiled eyes glared with almost palpable malice. He brought his horn to bear, trying for another deadly, near-range shot. She gave the horn a swift kick, causing Klaw to yell in outrage as his aim was diverted _up_. The ceiling was _not_ made to withstand vibranium-fueled sonic force. Ms. Marvel was able to avoid the falling debris and rubble, but Klaw was not. It crashed down and semi-buried him. For a moment...

As the rubble was pushed off, flung aside - and he thrust himself up from it - she couldn't help but think _Nothing harms him! What can I do? And why isn’t Steve --_

His shield was a hurtling blur as it sailed _over_ Klaw’s head. And Donna Maria gaped at it, unable to believe he’d missed like that -- 

Except that he had not. The shield struck a metal beam set in the wall - with precision and power that set it _ringing_ \- and ricocheted from there into Klaw’s back. There was another mini-sonic boom. Klaw went toppling forward to the ground, where he lay twitching and stunned. 

The wolves broke up like bad TV images, as their creator went down. Dissolving rapidly into thin air. 

“Sorry for the delay,” apologized Cap. “Vision’s trick gave me an idea -- didn’t know if it would work. That throw had to be perfect.” 

“It’s okay,” she assured, looking at their prone foe. “I’ll take it. But you'll have to explain these tricks. Later.” They glanced to where the remaining androids were gathered about a doorway, by which the Thinker had been standing. He had left sometime during the encounter and these were, presumably, guarding his exit. The rest of the Avengers made their way over. 

“Before we deal with those and go after him -- Wanda, is there anything you can do to restrain Klaw?” Cap asked, pointing down at him. “I’ve no clue how long he’ll stay out.” 

Wanda nodded. “Yes, with pleasure.” Invoking her mutant magic, the debris that Klaw had fallen amidst began to move and form around him -- to combine and fuse. Till he was wrapped, cocooned within it. 

“There. It’s soundproof. And he won’t smother, since he doesn’t breathe.”

Cap nodded, satisfied. “Shall we?” 

* * * * * * * * *

Finishing off the androids proved no more a chore than it had last time around. Less so now the Vision was back among them. And Cap’s use of the overrides worked just as well at the door the Thinker sealed behind him, as it had when they’d entered Pegasus. 

As they moved into the hall beyond, Vision suggested “Perhaps I might go scout again? It was Klaw who ambushed and stunned me. I don’t believe that the Thinker could - “ 

Cap cut him off- “No, Vizh. Let’s stick together. We can’t know what the Thinker has up his sleeve. His allies and androids may be out of commission, but it’s his nature to plan for eventualities like that. It’s a good part of what makes him dangerous.” 

The Vision nodded, Wanda looked relieved, and the group continued to traverse the corridor. 

“Besides,” added Cap, “we’ve entered the sector that probably holds whatever it is they came here to take.” 

Soon, after the hall began to broaden somewhat, and a trio of doors could be glimpsed along its right side up ahead -- a clue to the Thinker’s whereabouts presented itself. In front of the middle door a small tool of some sort had been dropped. Walking toward it, Donna Maria began to have an otherworldly yet by now familiar feeling. The one that tended to presage an occurrence of her _seventh sense_. Yes -- the images were coming…

_Cap… striding through that middle door… the Thinker with his back turned, working on something at the rear of the room...turning partially to glance… something wrong; the Thinker’s lower leg transparent seeming… Cap speeding forward to subdue, and then … a brilliant, white-blue flash of energy, from a small device hidden off to one side..._

Steve was in front of _that_ , door and it was sliding open: “There he -- ” 

“Cap! No!” She was instantly behind, grabbing his right arm firmly with both hands - bringing her enhanced strength to bear to ensure he did _not_ move forward. “It _isn’t_ him! Look closely, it’s an illusion. And there’s a deadly device attached to the wall. To the left. See there - the little metallic half-sphere thing? It’s a weapon -- one that can kill! My seventh sense showed what _could_ have happened!” 

It became clear the figure of the Thinker _was_ illusory. Its movements were limited, it did not speak or react appropriately to their presence. After she described the lethal burst she’d seen the small device produce, Cap turned his head and regarded her with a smile: 

“All right. Viva la seventh sense! So the question becomes whether the Thinker’s got another of those things, wherever he really is. And how we can avoid getting toasted.” He glanced to Donna Maria's hands, which yet held his arm. She let go of it.

“I should be able to deal with it,” said Wanda. “A trigger-device like that is one of the simpler things to change the probability of.” 

Thus prepared, they proceeded on in pursuit of what was _hopefully_ their sole-remaining adversary. 

* * * * * * * * *

It ultimately wound out -- some distance and several doors later -- that what they encountered both was and wasn’t their final adversary. It had yet again looked like the Thinker, and wasn't another illusion. But right after Wanda took care of the energy weapon they’d been anticipating, the Beast bounded across the room. And with a decisive blow laid bare the truth: the Thinker _wasn't_ here in person. It was another of his androids…

They all gazed at the sparking, spasming remains of the faux Thinker. 

“Oh my stars and garters,” said Henry, never one to miss a chance to use his favorite exclamation. “You’d expect a guy who does all that thinking to be more authentic, wouldn’t you?” 

Donna Maria snorted. “You’re funny!” 

“Well, there’s nothing funny, or really surprising, about the Thinker working through an android proxy,” remarked Cap. “It’s exactly what we should have expected. Beast, Vizh - that apparatus the android was trying to unfix from its stand - let’s see if we can learn what it is?” 

With some time, discernment, and the available documentation they did just that. And thereby discovered it was _nothing_ at all what any of them would have guessed: 

“Uh yep, that’s right,” intoned the Beast, nodding sagely, “It’s a _phyto-invigorator_. Created to provide energy that super-stimulates the reproduction and growth of plants. Especially the kind we eat. Well, that you omnivores eat, I mean. Runs on solar or geothermal power. Gosh - maybe the Thinker has a scheme that involves a chain of vegetarian restaurants?” 

Cap shook his head. “Who knows. We’re not going to find out by spending more time here.” He considered a moment. “I think we should split up. Vision, Wanda -- I want you to help me. We’ll search more to make sure there’s no one else here we need to deal with. Beast, Wasp, Ms. Marvel -- backtrack and see if you can waken any of the Pegasus staff to speak with them. If so, tell them everything. Get their help in getting Klaw and Sandman into appropriate custody.” 

Donna Maria acknowledged along with the other two. “Si, mi capitán.” 

“We won’t spend more time than we need to. And will rejoin you soon as we can. _Be careful_ , just in case Marko or even Klaw are up and around.” Cap was addressing the three of them of course. But he'd looked at her when he'd said _"be careful."_ And although this was again not the time or place, she felt her heart leap a little.

* * * * * * * * *

The aftermath meeting with the revived Pegasus staff took place over some hours. SHIELD was conferenced in and they too received the full rundown as to what had occurred. Security would be set at the highest levels, the means of trespass fully investigated, detailed, and analyzed. It would be an ongoing process until all relevant facts were known, and any related questions had answers. Unfortunately, the Sandman had managed to escape. As for Klaw, once the cocoon the Scarlet Witch had confined him in was opened, it would be discovered his solid-sound body had collapsed _into_ his sonic horn. Possibly a side effect of the blow Cap had struck with his vibranium-alloy shield. For the time being, the horn would be stored in a vacuum-vault, in which no sound could propagate. Until it could be safely and securely transferred into SHIELD’s keeping. 

“Avengers, we cannot thank you enough for your intervention,” they were told by the ED of Project Pegasus. “It certainly is odd they went to so much trouble to get their hands on the phyto-invigorator. Hardly a world conquering weapon...as well as only a prototype. One that has a list of bugs yet to be worked out.” 

“Glad to be of help, as always,” replied Cap. “In time, I’m certain there will be answers. We’ll work on that in conjunction with SHIELD. For the present, I’m just pleased there were no fatalities, no serious injuries.” 

In due course, all was said and done and it was time to take their leave. They made an exit more relaxed and leisurely than their entry, and returned to the quinjet. More than ready to head back to Avengers Mansion. And to call it a night. 

* * * * * * * * *

En route, there was the usual chat and banter. The typical wind down for a job that had been stressful, but not horrendous. This had been both fast and intense, Donna Maria reflected. There was something of a mystery to be solved, if one that didn’t seem like any screaming priority in her mind. As she gazed through the window, she noted it was yet dark with the moon still up. That gladdened her: 

_I don't care for going to sleep after dawn. Not unless it was a really good party. Which this was not..._

Reclining her seat, she stretched her legs and raised her arms above her head. And realized Steve was glancing over. She returned the glance, flashing him a smile -- one she hoped was hard to interpret. He turned his head, resumed making small talk with Janet, asking how her husband was doing with his research. Donna Maria shut her eyes and continued to lean back. 

_Ah, look all you care to, Tiger. We could be going home to passionate, post-battle love making. I shall continue to do everything I can to help you think about what you’re missing. In the meanwhile, perhaps snappish Sharon will agree to see you. Maybe next week? To give you a resentful kiss, or something?_

Content in those thoughts and her plans, the Avengers’ Ms. Marvel relaxed for the remainder of the short flight. Some obstacles in her love life aside, she was happy with the way things were working out. And she was absolutely avid for what she believed the future would bring.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the encounter at Project Pegasus, Donna Maria has an opportunity to work on her agenda. Quality time with Steve is in her future -- but will it be a significant step forward, or only a taste of what she'll never have? Steve learns how and why she came to work at Hector Santiago's prison. And Tony Stark - with a most unexpected guest to follow - arrives to work on unraveling the mystery posed at Pegasus.

Late morning, the following day :: 

Today it had decided to rain. And Donna Maria was okay with that -- she found both the sound and the cloud-filtered light to be soothing. They brought with them memories of the region she had once called home, both the good and the otherwise. She savored the former and accepted the latter. Her past didn't particularly weigh on her; it was what it was, and she was grateful that her family -- those members she loved and remained in contact with -- were healthy and well. They did believe she had gone crazy, of course. But it wasn't like it was the _first_ time they'd thought so, even if running off to the U.S. and becoming an Avenger was altogether something _else_. 

Things were quiet in the aftermath of the Project Pegasus incident, save for the work that was occasioned by it. Several of the Avengers were engaged in follow-up research or reaching, out to various contacts. She had offered to help, but been told it wasn’t for the moment needed. Thus she had some time to kill. And while reviewing her own past held no strong allure, the Avengers’ past was another matter. Beyond needing to know their history in order to be a more effective member of the team, she was also fascinated by it. At one time, she’d been quite sure what she’d gone through with Steve was the most bizarrely dangerous experience anyone could ever have. But she was now aware this organization had had numbers of experiences which were as much or even more so. 

As Donna Maria sipped her coffee -- and what coffee it was, Jarvis and his staff knew how to do it right -- she found herself engrossed in what had become her favorite file among the archive. That being the one that chronicled the events of the _Celestial Madonna_. Steve wasn't on the team at the time -- having traded being Captain America for a different role, the _Nomad_ \-- and Henry hadn't yet joined. But Wanda had been deeply involved -- as was another woman Avenger, a martial arts expert who called herself _Mantis_. Donna Maria found her entirely interesting. Like herself, she was a hand to hand fighter as well as a foreign national. More, Mantis too was connected to the alien people called the Kree. Whose lingering technology was why she now sat here a fully authorized Avenger, with clearance to read such confidential material... 

From over in the next room the phone began to ring. Swiveling away from the screen, she was about to rise to go get it, till hearing the distinctive gait of the Beast. Henry had beaten her to it: 

“Shaggy’s Pizza!” 

She smiled, shook her head at the silliness, while turning back to resume her perusing. 

“Oh -- heya Sharon!” 

Donna Maria’s eyes narrowed; she was of a sudden frowning. 

“Yep, yep -- he’s here. Not far away. Just saw him. I’ll get him. _Ohhh_ Stevie boy,” Henry sang out, “it’s your lady love, reaching out across the many, many miles!” 

Her frown remained in place. And she was finding it challenging to maintain interest in her favorite file. Steve eventually made it to the phone- 

“Thank you, Hank. Hi Sharon! _This_ makes my morning.”

She bit her lip. The fingers of one hand raised -- nails then clicking down upon the desk like knives. 

_Forget this. I’m not going to listen! I’ll go…_ She checked the thought. _No - I’m absolutely going to listen. This is an opportunity to gather valuable intel!_

“You did? Oh. Well, we had left the mansion by that time. What -- ” His voice lowered, but she could still hear the words. 

“No, _no_ , it _wasn’t_ just me and Donna Maria. Why would you say that? The other time was just a short reconnaissance. This was a full-team emergency, honey. SHIELD knows. I'm kind of surprised you haven't heard yet.” 

The frown left her lips. She leaned back a little, folded her arms with a certain amount of satisfaction. Now much more eager to hear how this conversation would progress.

Steve’s voice resumed its previous volume: “Uh huh. That’s right. We took care of it. Though the motive isn’t yet clear. Oh? You did mention something about it. Perhaps a nice change, for a while? I hope?” He was silent, listening a time. Then: 

“Hmm. That’s been the dilemma for awhile now, hasn’t it? It’s a hard choice to make. Like we’ve talked about, many times. The grass is always greener, honey -- sometimes you just have to choose and -- what? Of course -- of course you can change your mind. I didn’t mean -- ” 

_That’s right,_ she thought, _talk to him like he’s crap! Flash your fangs! Drive him to wonder why he puts up with your hissing and spitting, while the purring Donna Maria is willing and near._

“ -- was a trite thing to say, I’m sorry, and I do understand, Sharon. I just want you to be happy. You know that. For _us_ to be happy. So. When do I get to see you?” Another pause of some moments. 

“But I could come out there -- couldn’t I? Let me -- ” Steve gave a rather defeated, deflated, sounding sigh. “I guess. I guess you’re right. Okay. Not what I wanted to hear, but okay. We _do_ need some time together though. In the not too distant future.” The subject changed. “How are your folks?” 

The rest of the call was pleasantries, small talk. In due time he wrapped it up with an _‘I love you’_ that didn't sound enthusiastic. It was followed by the click of the handset being returned to its cradle, along with a second sigh. 

_I believe it is time to make my move..._ She arose from the chair with intent -- recollecting as she did that she needed to close the confidential file -- then strode to the room’s antique accent-mirror. _...but not without a quick, preparatory check._

Donna Maria had done her hair with one of her favorite scarves, placing it in a side ponytail. It was holding up nicely. Lipstick looked fine, no need for a touch up. Her apparel was an off-shoulder, wrap top along with a pair of fitted, Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. It was the kind of outfit she not infrequently defaulted to at the mansion, and had several variations of. As much sexy as was appropriate, with the clothes she'd had to work with. She found she was still satisfied with the way everything looked and fit. 

_All good!_ It sounded like Steve had walked out of the other room. Most probably to seek some privacy after the heart-bruising he’d taken from his ‘lady-love.’ She needed to catch him, divert him, in case he was heading for his room with the intent of shutting the door. She also needed (not for the first time) to make this seem random, and not contrived. Though seeing him later was an alternative, it wasn't her first choice. She wanted him _while_ he was sore. While her hearing was not as keen as Henry’s, it was sharper than that of most non-powered people, and following after Steve’s footfalls was easy enough. Levitating -- moving via her power of flight, an inch or so above the ground -- so he wouldn't realize he was being tailed. 

Or stalked. _No bones about it … I’m stalking. Ugh! Who would've thought? But I’m no voyeur! The opportunity I'll provide, but it’s up to him what he does with it._ After a short pursuit, she saw his destination was the balcony off of this floor, on the mansion’s west side. She ceased moving before arriving at the T-intersect in the hall that led out to it. 

_A perfect choice, Tiger. Where better to brood than a lonely, covered balcony, gazing out into the rains and grey sky?_

She held her position, let her feet touch the ground, giving him time to situate. To begin _stewing_ \-- as well as support the notion this little meeting was only happenstance. Eventually she began to walk toward the corner, rounded it, continued on as both balcony and her quarry came into view. Her steps were casual, with no attempt at stealth. That would have been something of a trick, anyway, given that she was wearing sandals. He heard her approach and turned to see who it was. 

“Donna Maria -- can I help you with something?” The tone was neutral, guarded sounding.

_A man who’s so used to wielding a shield. He surely has one over his heart, right now..._

“Hey Steve.” Her own voice was calm, warm -- intended as a contrast to the one who'd just stung him. “Help me? No, not really. I just love how the air smells when it rains. How soothing the sound of it is.” She closed the rest of the distance, then stepped out onto the balcony to stand alongside him. His eyes briefly met hers. More briefly flicked at her bare shoulders, the swell of her bosom, before returning to the rains. 

“That’s a pretty hard expression you’re wearing. Everything is okay, I hope? Are you thinking about the Pegasus matter?” 

There was hesitancy before the answer. “I have been thinking about it. But I wasn’t just now.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t come out here for company.” 

“Are you asking me to leave?” The question was posed with empathy. Even though an answer in the affirmative would be a sting to her own heart...

A somewhat longer pause. He let go a breath, shrugged. “Suit yourself. I don’t own the balcony. Or give you orders, when we’re out of the field. Just don’t expect me to be Mr. Sunbeam.” 

He didn’t want to run her off. She enjoyed that small, initial victory, finding it encouraging. Her smile was consequently genuine: 

“A sunbeam would spoil this lovely rain. You’re fine.” _In more than one sense of the word._ She had seen he was wearing the pressed jeans and topsiders he favored, in addition to a button down, pin striped shirt. Steve had taste, never overdid it, which she admired. Fancy -- or worse _gaudy_ \-- wasn’t what she wanted to see on a man. Especially not one with such a physique. Well, his Captain America costume _was_ an exception -- but superhero costumes were supposed to be flashy. Street clothes were another matter. 

Steve didn’t reply, and she knew it was on her to motivate him into conversation. How to proceed? _Ah, yes._. It wasn’t exactly _nice_ , but would serve to underline the issue with his love life. 

“Maybe you should ring Sharon? I mean, if you’re kind of bummed about something, your woman will naturally want to be there for you, to help to -- “ 

Steve frowned and glanced toward his shoes. 

“ -- or...maybe not. Ah. I get it now. Oh I’m sorry, Steve -- I didn’t mean to poke a sore spot.” _Yeah, the hell I didn’t! Now consider again why you put up with what you get, and if it’s truly worth it._

”Relationships can be complicated,” he told her, looking back up, “I’m sure you’ve experienced that too. Who hasn’t? We’ll work through it. We always do.” 

_Yes. And you’ll do it at a turtle’s pace, since you speak more and more seldom, and that often through the phone. Meanwhile, it’s days and such long nights without a partner._ “Some complication is impossible to avoid, that is true. _People_ are complex, after all,” she pointed out while shrugging her shoulders. “But being madly in love is terrific inspiration to get things smoothed out, when the waters do get rough. I’m sure _you’ve_ experienced that. With Sharon?” _Well, not in any recent times..._

“Oh sure.”

Donna Maria had begun to notice he sometimes said ‘oh sure’ like that, when he wished to skirt the subject. Avoid confronting something which might be too uncomfortable. And sure enough: 

“I think I just need to get out of the mansion for a bit. Rain or no rain. You know how it is when you’re cooped up -- thinking too much, about too _many_ things.” 

“I do indeed," she nodded. "Where do you suppose you might go?” 

“I don’t know -- nowhere fancy, probably one of my usuals.” 

“Like Shaker’s Diner, that you were telling me about the other evening?” 

“Hard to go wrong with Shaker’s. That isn't a bad idea.” 

She chose a somewhat bold tactic: “I’ve wanted to try it since you told me about it.” _There is absolutely nothing there that should be part of my diet. But in the name of forwarding my master-plan..._

“Really? As conscious as you are about what you eat?” 

“I splurge now and then. Especially if a great milkshake is involved. And they have a jukebox, you said. And darling decor. Hey, let’s do it.” She observed his look grew sort of pained. _Guilt_ , more than likely, based on the accusation Sharon made while the two of them were on that call. The accusation that concerned _herself_. 

“Donna Maria, I can’t -- I mean, I don’t -- ” 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Steve -- we're teammates. Friends. You hang out with Wanda or Jan sometimes, and it’s no big deal. This would be no different, right?” _Though truly it would. For a small list of reasons. But that needn’t stop us._

“Yes…right, but like I said, I'm not really looking for company, and I -- ” 

“Will go out to a fun, cheerful place, sit by yourself, and most likely fail at trying not to brood? That sounds dumb.” 

His mouth opened, in surprise or protest. But then he smiled, laughed a little. “Alright. Okay! Since you put it that way. I’ll call a taxi. It may take a bit longer, with the rain. Can you be ready whenever it gets here?” 

Naturally she could. A short time later, Donna Maria went to her room to collect her purse, raincoat, and umbrella. She also swapped her sandals for a pair of waterproof pumps, with a comfortable heel -- those she often liked to wear when she went out. The diner was about thirty minutes from Avengers Mansion, out in Queens, according to Steve. As soon as the cab showed, they made their way from the mansion out to the curbside where it waited. Steve got the door for her, which she accepted with an appreciative smile. The one he gave in turn was not without authentic warmth, she felt. The ride over was pleasant. In the presence of the cab driver their chat was kept to small talk, concerning mostly the city's sights and the weather. 

* * * * * * * * *

Shaker’s Diner had apparently expanded from an earlier prefab design. During the process, its original walled mirrors, art deco etched glass, and other decor had been preserved. The place possessed a lot of retro charm, without feeling antiquated. Its vintage milkshake machines churned out what were reputed to be the finest shakes in the Apple. Steve swore up and down that it was true. Resolved to put it to the test, Donna Maria's order was the basic, plain vanilla. That way the quality of the product couldn’t be disguised by a fancy, over-sweet flavor. And she soon discovered that indeed… 

“Oh _hell_ this is good!” 

Grinning, Steve retorted “I told you. Although I think ice-cream like this probably comes from the _other_ place.” He was at work on his own strawberry flavored version, a childhood favorite, he told her. 

She smiled at the humor. And then found her straw had become clogged, when she tried to continue sipping. Drawing it from the glass, she brought the clogged end toward her mouth, in order to use tongue and lips to deal with the excess ice cream. If it _happened_ to fire his imagination at all, that didn’t bother her. His expression was kind of a challenging one to read, although his mood did seem to have lightened. 

“Donna Maria, there’s something I’ve always been a little curious about,” he ventured after she had reinserted her straw. 

“I like curiosity. Um, up to a point.” They both smiled. “What is it you'd like to know?” 

“I'm aware that he was a part of your family, of course. But that aside, how was it you came to work at Hector’s prison?” 

“No...you never did hear the story, did you? Although I’ve told it to some of the others. I believe I did tell you my family is not from Rio de Muerte, but rather Costa Perdita, which borders to the north?” 

“You did mention that. Your family owns land there, a large farm. I remember that too.” 

“That’s right. And it’s where I learned the administrator skills I made use of in Hector’s employ.” Her slight smile was wry. “Hector had not had good luck with his administrator before me -- a greedy, dishonorable man, who contrived to -- ah, the word in Spanish is _malvarsar_ \-- I think in English it is…embezzle. Yes, to _embezzle_ from him. Needless to say, Hector was _beyond_ furious once he learned what was going on.” 

“Uh oh. I’m supposing your predecessor didn’t _live_ long enough to regret pilfering from the trough of the Swine?” 

She shook her head. “My cousin said since he wanted wealth so badly, he should have an opportunity to leave with a good bit of it. A small safe was shackled to his arm. He was told that it had within it bars of gold, though in truth it was only lead weights. The point was he had to struggle and go slow while carrying it. He was ordered to keep to the riverbank, or otherwise be shot by the tower-guards.” 

“Aha. Of course. The riverbank. So Zola’s watchdog -- and my old sparring partner -- the Man-Fish had him for lunch?” 

After another sip of her shake, she confirmed his awful but accurate guess: “Yes. That’s exactly how the position came to be open. Around the same time, our family was having finance issues, because of some not so wise investments my father made. And Hector offered to help -- but being Hector, there was a price. He liked the idea of having a member of the family in the administrator seat -- someone he knew, someone who wouldn’t try to rip him off. He heard from my father what excellent help I had been with that kind of work.” 

Steve sipped at his own shake. “I see. So he took your services in a bargain. I’d like to _think_ you were well-paid, for having to work and live in that hellhole environment. But I’m guessing otherwise.” 

“You guess more or less correct. There was a stipend -- and I was kept in good enough comfort, as far as material things. If I really wanted something, I was usually allowed to order it for myself. While I know good and well he enjoyed having some control over me -- something he’d never had before -- he was bright enough to understand treating me bad would interfere with my doing a good job. And I _did_ do a good job. I made myself as valuable as I could, so he’d be even less inclined to fuck with me. And so that _I_ had some ground on which to fuck with him. Which I _did_ enjoy, let me tell you!” Her smile following that admission was more than a touch wicked. 

He chuckled, remarking “You were - still are? - kind of a hellion, Donna Maria. I’ve gathered that.” 

She grinned. “Sure. But I only like to devil the devils. To the angels, I am an angel.” She arched a brow and reconsidered, as she saw the look he began to give. “So...maybe not an _angel_. A very well meaning and loyal friend and comrade -- how 'bout that?” 

“That much I won't argue.”

A stressed-out looking waitress brought the basket of seasoned steak fries he'd ordered. The joint was jumping, as the expression went. Donna Maria had noted that when they came in. A sign of a good establishment, she supposed, that the rain didn’t deter its clientele from showing up. Though given the location, it was likely some were already out and about, and this was a convenient place at which to refuel. In any case, it _was_ cheering and pleasant. She understood why Steve liked it, having already found that she did too. 

“Now _these_ ,” he indicated the fries with a sweep of a hand, “are pure garbage. I wouldn’t argue that either. Not something I eat any quantity of. But it’s _tasty_ garbage, a real comfort food for me. Unlike a lot of other places, they don’t under-cook them.” He gestured again. “I really shouldn’t eat all of them -- so if you care to take your splurge up a level - or several - please feel free to help.” 

Donna Maria treated the bright red basket and its calorie crammed contents to a dubious look. At which her companion smiled broadly.

“I’ve seen you look less wary of some of your opponents. C’mon! Two or three won’t kill you -- nor add anything you won’t quickly work off, in our lifestyle.” 

“I don’t know about that. These look like they could permanently alter the fat cells of my body.” 

“As a biochemist, Hank could surely give you a definitive answer. But I know darn well he wouldn’t counsel you against having a few, either way.” He grasped a glass bottle from off to his right and undid the lid. “I prefer’em with catsup -- but won’t hold it against you, if mustard or Shaker’s own secret, spicy mayo is more to your preference.” 

“Ahh -- what the hell.” 

“That’s the spirit! Spoken like a mostly unreformed hellion.” 

_All in the name of bonding with this beautiful man. But he damn well better never tell me my costume makes me look chunky!_ She reached for one, dipped it into the thick catsup he’d just slapped from the bottle. And with no more ado, took a bite of it. 

“Well?” 

Donna Maria held up an index finger for time, absolutely not going to speak before she was done chewing, and had swallowed. “Well...It’s not on a par with Jarvis’ healthy, delicious cooking. But I grant you, it _is_ kind of comforting and good on a rainy, grey day such as this.” 

“Exactly. But enough about greasy junk fries. You were telling me about coming to be in Hector’s employ -- I now know how and why. But had it served its purpose, by the time he died? Is your family’s situation stable once more?” 

“Oh, yes. I would not have left them, otherwise. And we can partially thank our friend the Man-Fish for the way things did work out. For all that my cousin deserved being known as the Swine, he was yet a man who acknowledged his family. _Not_ in a warm, sentimental way. But out of tradition and pride. His reasons made no difference in the will. It was enough to return things to the way they were, before my father’s mistakes.” 

“That’s good. I like a happy ending. You’ve spoken of him, your father, on a few occasions. He sounds like a fair, decent man, if ambitious and somewhat stubborn.” 

“Mm hm. That describes papa pretty well.” She polished off her fry after saying so.

“What about your mother? I don’t recall you speaking of her.” 

_He is paying attention,_ she realized, _when I speak about my life. That’s a good sign._ Her expression grew wistful. “I have a step-mother. We get along okay, but aren’t close. I don’t believe -- I _know_ my father isn’t in love with her in the same way he was with my mother. Who died when I was barely four. And his second-wife has gotten some idea over the years that it’s so. Most of those who remember her...they say how much I’m like my mother. It’s...uncomfortable, for my step-mother.” 

Steve shook his head feelingly. “I -- probably should have realized, and not asked you. I know that sort of pain too well. I lost both my parents young. My dad at about the same age you were, and then my mom in my teens. It’s a rotten thing for a kid to go through. _Beyond_ rotten. I’m sorry you know it firsthand.” Something in his eyes appeared to shift, as he looked at her and added “And I’m sorry for your father’s loss, too. He must have loved her very much.” 

Donna Maria’s heart ached to hear that, and her features conveyed sorrow. “ _Both_ parents...” She sighed. “My god, Steve. This world is so coldly cruel, sometimes! But sadly, it’s also just life. We all lose people we love; it’s going to happen. Sometimes much, much sooner than it should.” She gazed out the droplet dappled window on her left -- at the cars and pedestrians passing by. “It _is_ one reason I love what we do. We can prevent some of that.” 

He nodded emphatically. “You said it, lady. Here’s to it,” to which they toasted with their milkshakes. 

“I came along to try and lighten your mood! How about a happier topic of conversation? I want to hear about your art -- how you got started, what are your influences, what you enjoy most. And that class you’re teaching out at the VA.” 

Donna Maria soon patted herself on the back. It _was_ a happier topic. One he clearly enjoyed opening up about. She had but to ask the occasional question in order to keep him going. And she adored the sparkle that came into his heaven-blue eyes, like sun on a clear lake. It proved to be a great means to gain insights about the man beneath the mask. She made mental note of a number of things. The perceptiveness, the sense of aesthetics, the sensitivity he revealed...these only served to make her adore him _more_. To _want_ him more... 

Someone had started on a song on the jukebox… 

“Donna Maria?” 

“Yes?” 

He was smiling quizzically. “I said, do you like this song?” 

_God! Snap out of it, girl! That’s embarrassing!_

_'See the paper layin' in the sidewalk, a little music from the house next door  
So I walked on up to the doorstep, through the screen and across the floor  
Summer breeze...makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind...'_

She’d heard it a number of times on the radio, here in the U.S. A pretty song about life during summertime. “Yes...yes, I do like it. Who is the band?” 

“Seals and Crofts. I like it too. Always makes it feel like a blue-sky day. Even if it’s raining cats and dogs.” 

_'Sweet days of summer, the jasmine's in bloom  
July is dressed up and playing her tune  
And I come home from a hard day's work...  
And you're waiting there…'_

But it was the _next_ tune to come on -- one recorded by a brand new band named Blondie -- that was a real favorite, and which she found herself quite unable to resist. She knew what she must do. Abruptly, she stood. 

“Heading to the ladies’ room?” he asked, looking up. 

“No. I freaking _love_ this song. I’m going to dance.” 

“Oh, ha ha, some folks do that here. Don’t let me stop you! ” 

She moved over to him, having made a staunch decision. “No -- you won't stop me, because you're coming _with_ me.” 

“What-? Look, Donna Maria, I can’t -- I mean, I don’t -- ”

She rolled her eyes, replaying the exchange they’d had at the mansion. “Right. Sure. Just as you _couldn’t_ come here with me? We handled that, no sweat. This is next.” 

“I - I haven’t danced too much to this kind of music. And - and Sharon would _flip_ if she -- ” 

“She’ll never know! And no need for guilt. It’s innocent fun. A part of your feel-good therapy -- Dr. Puentes _knows_ you need this.” She took him by the arm, using just enough of her enhanced strength to bring him to his feet. She then caught his hand, tugged him out toward the open floor in front of the machine. 

_‘...seemed like the real thing, only to find  
Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind!’ _

“Just this one song! Fake it if you have to. Most white people don’t know how to dance, anyway. No one cares. They're too busy slurping or munching.” All done with preamble, Donna Maria began to move in time to the song’s smooth, rousing beat: 

_’Once I had a love and it was divine  
Soon found out, I was losing my mind…’_

Sheepish look notwithstanding, Steve began to move with her. While she could tell he was in fact inexperienced in dancing to this sort of music, he also appeared to be far from terrible. His sense of the beat and how to step made it plain he was familiar with some kind of dancing. _How would it be otherwise? Such an incredible guy -- I can hardly be the first girl to urge him out on the floor! If Sharon doesn’t do this with him it’s a shitty waste!_

Of course this particular guy was also _Captain America_. His spectacular coordination and agility made him graceful, even for a man of his brawn...

_‘In between  
What I find is pleasing, and I'm feeling fine  
Love is so confusing, there's no peace of mind  
If I fear I'm losing you, it's just...no good...  
You teasing like you do…’ _

As the song progressed, Donna Maria became more expressive in her moves and steps. Now and then she looked at Steve, meeting those beautiful eyes before glancing down. He _was_ smiling now, in spite of himself. Or in spite of Sharon. _This could grow on you I bet. And I lied about dance being innocent. It's among the best preludes to sex. If you’ve not discovered that yet, I'd be so willing to assist..._

_‘...adorable illusion, and I cannot hide  
I'm the one you're using, please don't push me aside  
We could've made it cruisin’, yeah..’_

Into the song’s instrumental bridge she spun from Steve, and shook it down with greater intensity. A trio of guys in a nearby booth whistled, and someone shouted “Yeah!” She reminded herself she needed to be _careful_. Getting lost in dance at home, she discovered it possible to inadvertently trigger her _flight power_ and begin drifting off the ground. _That_ would not do here. _The Fantastic Four can have their public identities. As for me, I relish my privacy!_

_‘Yeah, riding high on love's true bluish light!  
Ooh ooh, whoa -- ’ _

During the subsequent drum rolls, Donna Maria pivoted and struck a pose -- freezing in place till the music came back in and she shimmied back to Steve, to the sound of more whistling. She danced near him through the outro, stepping back to spin around on every eighth beat, then moving near again. She ended with a dramatic flourish, once her beloved 'Heart of Glass' was on its way to its fade-out. There came applause. One of the guys who’d whistled, who was pretty cute, approached and asked if he might have the next dance. She thanked him, politely declining the offer. 

Steve placed a hand on her arm, adding- “Yep, sorry buddy, this is my therapist. We’re in session.” 

Which drew a bemused look from the guy but made her smile. En route to their booth, she caught a remark by a middle-aged woman to her husband and two teens: “...and aren’t they a gorgeous couple?” Donna Maria's smile deepened. Steve had seemed not to overhear, but as they re-seated themselves she observed that he was sporting a telltale blush. 

The remark? The dancing? Both? _I don’t care! He's been affected by this -- by our spending time together -- one way or the other!_

* * * * * * * * *

By the time the ride back home arrived, the rain had intensified rather than abated. They made their way outside and through it, kept mostly dry by coats and umbrellas, swiftly reaching the taxi. 

“God _weeps_ because you dance so poorly,” Donna Maria kidded Steve. For which she was rewarded with a pretend swat at her rump. But he was still smiling. Again he opened the door like a gentleman, shielding them both with his umbrella while she collapsed her own. 

“You know,” he began, as he awaited her to slide over, then entered himself, “I think I’m gonna quote McCoy here: ‘For shame! Low, _low_ , blow!’” 

She laughed at that; a reference to the exchange between herself and Henry, when they fought the first wave of androids inside Project Pegasus. “Huh! I would say slapping your co-worker on her butt is more truly a _low blow._ ” 

“It was pretend! Your behind was never touched.” 

“It’s the thought that counts, so I've heard.” _And in the right circumstance, mister, I’d let you act on the thought if it turned you on._

Steve confirmed the address for the driver, who appeared amused by their banter, and they began to head out into traffic. “Uh huh, well, what about your thought that a whole race of people can’t dance? Do you honestly believe that?” 

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I said _most_ , not _all._ There are naturally exceptions.” 

“That’s nice of you to concede. And I’d like to _think_ I’m one, but…

“Well don’t take my word alone. Ask your friend Sam Wilson, sometime. Be sure to tell him you want the straight answer, not the social one.” 

“Mmm. And you only like to devil the devils. So very indirectly here, you’re calling me a devil -- as well as a bad dancer?” 

She laughed once more, placing her hands up in a gesture of innocence. “You believe I’m deviling you? I deal merely in the facts, sir!” But she gave in and offered a conciliatory wink: “And the fact is, you're not bad at all, Steve. You plainly know how to feel the beat, how to move. You could stand to loosen up some, but I know I put you on the spot in there. I’m sure it didn’t help. Thank you for indulging me.” 

“My pleasure. It was fun. And who am I to argue with Dr. Puentes?” 

“No, that you should never do. Not if you know what’s good for you.” Donna Maria saw his hand was resting not far from her own. Was it conscious or unconscious? Either way, it served to further reduce the sense of distance he normally imposed between them. Along with the warmer way in which they were presently relating. 

_I want so bad to be close to you! To share life, to be there whenever you need me! But I won’t chase you anymore than I already am. I’m all for what they call women’s lib here in the states, yet some things about romance and love I would never wish to change. If you do want me too, you’re going to have to own up to it, and take me._

Steve had become silent while she was thinking, perhaps in review of his own thoughts. Or considering his next words. “It _was_ good for me, Donna Maria. And thank you.” 

_Well...honest gratitude. I like that!_ On the verge of responding with a sincere _'Anytime,'_ she stopped herself. Not wishing to sound so eager he'd think spending time with her should be taken for granted. "You're welcome," she replied instead. The rest of the ride was easy, persisting downpour and its effects on traffic aside. Her mood was high -- she felt quite confident that progress had been made via this little outing. 

* * * * * * * * *

The rain cut to barely a drizzle as day wound its way to evening at Avengers Mansion. After they'd returned, Steve engrossed himself in communications and review pertaining to the Pegasus incident. And Donna Maria assisted him as well as other members of the team when and where she could. He remained more outgoing toward her than he had been, though their interactions were predominately business. Which was understandable. She knew how important it was to learn _why_ El Loco, El Lodo, and El Sonido Grosero ( _The Madman, The Mud, and The Rude Sound,_ as she’d dubbed Thinker, Sandman, and Klaw) had gone after that seemingly innocuous piece of technology. 

As it happened, the team was to acquire additional assistance in this work. 

Tony Stark was the Avengers’ financier, advocate, and chief technologist. Supplying solutions and resources crucial to the success of many, many operations and cases. Avengers Mansion was more truly _Stark_ Mansion -- having been built in the 1930s by Tony’s father, then donated through the charitable foundation named in honor of his mother. Though he was not a superhero, Donna Maria discovered early on the others very much regarded Mr. Stark as one of them. And even if he didn't personally work in the field, his bodyguard Iron Man often did, and that was yet another boon he brought. 

On top of those things, and being filthy rich, Mr. Stark was also charming as hell and strikingly handsome. Donna Maria held it a good test of her feelings for Steve -- that even though she did appreciate everything Tony had onboard, so to speak -- she wasn’t swooning for him as she otherwise might have. He was good company in any case, and she was never sorry to learn he was going to make an appearance. Especially when the team had need of his know-how and expertise, as they did now. She realized he was in the mansion as she came downstairs from the study, and overheard him speaking to Jan. The two were in the living room:

“...that’s right, she’s coming in too. I feel she’s uniquely suited to assist in something like this, where we need to gather and sort through a lot of data rapidly, and consider a broad array of possible uses.” 

“Isn’t that kind of Vision’s thing, Tony?”

“It is, but not to the same degree. She’s _incredibly_ well suited for this sort of task. Look, I know it can make you a little uncomfortable having her around. And I do understand why. But, she’s done oustanding work at our labs, and has been checked out thoroughly in the meanwhile. She’s been working _so_ hard to fit in, to find herself.” 

“Okay, that’s all cheery to hear -- especially that she’s finding _herself_ , because I -- ” Jan ceased as Donna Maria entered.

“Hey, sorry to intrude -- but I admit to being so curious who this is you’re speaking of?” 

“Donna Maria, hello! Great to see you again. Well, you’re going to meet the one we’re speaking of soon enough. And best you do know something about her beforehand. You really should have an idea what to expect, _before_ she walks in.” 

As Tony went on to inform her about this visitor, Donna Maria reflected that as an Avenger she really shouldn’t be surprised by anything. Yet this wasn’t _comfortable_ company that was coming to the mansion, even so. And she could have _no_ idea the way in which this unusual guest was fated to become a catalyst in her situation with Steve Rogers.


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocasta - erstwhile bride of Ultron - lodges at Avengers Mansion in order to lend the team her services. Donna Maria explores this new acquaintanceship and chances to learn a personal detail. One that would seem to bode well for her plans and goals. But all hope and optimism notwithstanding, rough waters are ahead when she's told the last thing she wants to hear. Until a controlled fire is finally set free to spread, and things _really_ heat up...

Two days later, noontime ::

Sunlight gleamed upon chrome-like finish. And Donna Maria couldn’t help but be reminded of the motorcycle owned by her third boyfriend, Luis. The _Italika_ he’d acquired in Guatemala City and been so proud of. And on which they rode through some of the most beautiful parts of the area where she had grown up, as well as along the coast and out into the city, there to enjoy the nightlife and clubs. During that near-perfect summer that felt as though it might go on forever, in what now seemed almost like someone else’s life. Yes...she was quite far from the life she once knew in Costa Perdita, and those people and things that had been part of it.

It was _not_ a motorcycle the noon light glinted on. The subject of Donna Maria’s gaze was two- _legged_ , not two wheeled. Yet utterly and wholly mechanical in contrast to Wanda’s husband, who was of flesh and blood, just a synthetic sort. She would never have guessed the two of them shared a maker, had she not been told that fact. 

The metallic maiden seemed to sense she was being observed, turning from the window to regard and greet the one who stood looking at her: 

“Hello.” Although the appearance was far less human, the voice held nuance, even warmth, which sounded more so than that of the Vision. And Donna Maria found hearing it originate from that steel visage, with its softly luminous and featureless eyes, to be a little discomfiting. 

“Hello Jocasta.” That name -- taken from a Grecian myth of a queen who unknowingly married her own son. It was twisted humor on the part of the maker, who was likewise a being of unliving metal, but who nonetheless had sought to have a bride. So Tony had explained along with other things. 

“Donna Maria Puentes...Ms. Marvel. Most recent addition to the Avengers.” 

“That would be me," she said a bit warily, wondering what was to follow that pronouncement. 

“We’ve had little chance to become acquainted, with my being so busy.”

That was true. Jocasta had spent most of her time holed up in the mansion’s lab, where she performed the data oriented tasks she'd been brought in to do.

“So, then...do you know anything about me? Aside from my being new, I mean?” 

“I do. You’re a brave acquaintance of Steven Rogers, who gained powers to equal your courage. And who chose an alias that makes reference to the extraterrestrial hero, Mar-Vell.” 

Donna Maria shrugged and entered the room, moving to a distance more appropriate for conversation. If not so close as someone with whom she was comfortable. “I don’t back down from doing what I know is right. As for the alias…yes, you got it. My powers came from technology created by Captain Marvel’s people. It was Henry who suggested Ms. Marvel, when I found coming up with a name to be a little difficult.” 

“I did learn that, when I updated my internal database from the archives. And found your background to be quite interesting. I thus know too that you hail from Central America -- making your native tongue Español.” Jocasta changed to immaculately pronounced Spanish: “I’m one hundred percent fluent in that language, as well as all of the other major languages of the world. Would you prefer to converse in it, at those times the others aren’t present?” 

“You do in fact sound a hundred percent fluent,” Donna Maria replied in her native tongue. “It’s very nice for me to hear, but my English isn't yet as strong as I want it to be.” She switched back: “So I prefer we converse in it, that I may continue to improve.” 

“As you wish. May I venture too, I find your Ms. Marvel costume to be most stylish. Strikingly aesthetic in its design, and the way in which it emphasizes your form.” 

_Right, well, that was the idea…_ “Thank you. It was inspired by a former teammate of Henry’s. Someone I’ve never met, but saw a number of images of -- the _Phoenix._ I really like the costume she wears. I felt I could get away with something similar, but different enough it wouldn’t be a rip-off.” 

“Yes. The _Phoenix_.” Jocasta paused a moment, seeming to consider -- compute? -- something. Whatever the case, it concluded and she went on. “Your costume’s colors -- red, white and blue -- you chose those which represent your adopted home. And that are the same as Steven Rogers' uniform.” 

It was true. Both reasons...but more strongly the latter one. She’d used red as the base color instead of blue -- because it was sexier, but also because she didn’t want to be obvious in wearing the same colors as Steve. Jocasta was the first to pick up on it. Or at least the first to make a remark about it. 

“You got it again. Respect for the country I now think of as my home. And...respect for Captain America. The first real superhero I met. And my inspiration...in several ways.”

“I also found interesting Dr. Pym’s theory about _why_ the Kree psyche-magnitron empowered you in the way that it did -- responding to your desire to aid Steven Rogers amidst very grave danger.” 

“I’m not the kind of woman to sit on the sidelines and scream," she informed while shrugging again. "When he and I first met, it was ‘amidst very grave danger’ -- freakish, _horrible_ danger.” 

Jocasta nodded. “Among my database files, I have his full report of what the two of you encountered and experienced at Arnim Zola’s stronghold.” 

“I did my best to work with him, to help him when we were there -- but some of the threats we faced were _too_ much. I was helpless against those, and he had to contest with them alone. He was badly hurt on the way out. As I guess you also learned.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t _bear_ to see it again. And on that second occasion, I _do_ remember wishing so badly I could stand with him, like a superheroine.” 

There was another pause. Donna Maria had the impression that her words - or herself - were being analyzed. It was making her emotional to speak of what Steve and she had gone through together, as it often did. She did not want that. Didn’t want to touch such feelings now and here, in the presence of this being whom she didn't yet understand.

“Why haven’t you and Steven Rogers coupled?”

Donna Maria's mouth fell open and she blinked. _She did not just say that! Yes -- yes, she did!_ She scowled. “That’s -- that’s a hell of a thing to ask! I don't know how you mean it, exactly. But we are only teammates, friends.”

Jocasta’s features -- which were not incapable of expression -- appeared to soften, to convey something like a degree of embarrassment, perhaps. “I see. I’m sorry if I gave offense.” 

_What in god’s name led a fucking robot to ask that?_ And on the heels of the thought another hit her -- _Her persona is based on Jan’s mind…_ Yes, _Janet Pym_ … who happily married or no, had an eye for the guys, an ear for scandal and a head full of racy speculation. Along with a zeal for prying in her affectedly sweet, silly way. _That could explain it, alright!_ So too the remark about her costume ‘emphasizing her form,’ which she hadn't stopped to consider as odd coming from a robot. 

“No problem. I guess you’re still learning a lot of things about we crazy humans? I know I’m still trying to figure much of it out myself," she added with a smile. She wished to move on to a different topic now, and _stay_ moved, so no one would overhear this line of talk. Even so, there was a question Donna Maria _had_ to ask. She drew a step nearer, lowering her voice a little: 

“But tell me, what made you ask about me and Steve in particular?” 

“Certain changes.” 

“Changes -? I don’t understand…”

“The physiological sort. Caused by the release of specific neurotransmitters, the secretion of certain hormones. You elicit them in one another, I’ve noticed.” 

_God damn - is she saying she can see that Steve and I turn each other on?_ “You - you can see that?” 

“Such things are perceptible to me. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s perfectly natural, and healthy. Yet I know humans have many ideas and attitudes attached to this area of biology.” 

She gave a brief breath of a laugh. “Yeah...you could say so! Look, Jocasta, it’s impressive you pick up on these things in the human body. But you need to understand the concept of _privacy_ , which we humans value a lot. _Especially_ in this area of biology, as you put it.” 

“I do understand. Forgive me. I was designed to perceive and analyze the totality of any living being I encounter. Not for worthy reasons, I’m afraid -- mostly with an eye toward being able to subdue, or worse. But I’m striving to use my perceptions for things that _are_ worthy, such as thoroughly comprehending people, so I can help them in ways that matter.”

Donna Maria smiled. “I commend you for that. That _is_ worthy. There isn’t enough understanding in the world as it is, that’s for certain.” _Hm. I believe Tony is right -- she is trying hard to find her place among us. To be better than what her awful creator intended for her. Like the Vision did._ “If I can ever help you in some way, with your learning, I would be happy to do so.” 

“That’s kind of you. Thank you. And please consider the offer of help to be a mutual one.” 

The pair spent a short while longer in conversation. Donna Maria found she was able to warm some toward this being of cold metal, who did seem to possess something like a heart within her steely shell. _She has done me a favor in revealing what she did. Provided me with ammunition I can use in my tiger hunt! Perhaps I should feel guilty about the idea... but no, I don't think so. All is fair in love and war, as they say over here._

* * * * * * * * *

The data accumulation and analysis that was Jocasta’s assignment continued on into the evening. Tony assisted her intermittently, when he wasn’t involved with remotely conducting business for Stark Industries. The Vision would have normally aided as well, however he and Wanda were enjoying their scheduled time off in that latter half of the day. No leads had as yet been uncovered by the work -- but there was of course no guarantee of any. It was just one of a number of avenues pursued in the attempt to shed light on the events that had taken place at Pegasus. Given the opportunity, Donna Maria intended to shed light on another matter. One personal in nature -- that being Steve’s conflicted feelings toward herself. She was armed and accoutered for it: armed with the insight Jocasta had innocently supplied. And accoutered in the blouse, leather heel boots, and above the knee length skirt she had picked up while out shopping with Wanda. The correct amount of perfume - she wasn't one to overdo - allocated to her pulse points. Hair freshly washed, styled, and worn loose. 

And though she’d no expectation it would be needed _yet_ \-- a certain lingerie set she purchased on the same jaunt, when they'd visited _La Petite Coquette_. She had donned it in the name of purpose, as an aid in maintaining mood and mindset. Steve along with Tony were found in the living room, the two of them engaged in conversation. The tone sounded casual rather than business focused, and it was primarily Tony who was talking, while Steve nodded and smiled. In a way that suggested he wasn't perhaps wholly interested in the topic.

“...so you should have _seen_ the look on Sitwell’s face, as soon as Krissy pointed it out, and said ‘Is _that_ what was in your pants this whole time?’ Ha! Man, I know it’s bad of me...but I _cannot_ help but enjoy seeing Jasper with that mortified look he gets, when somebody gets him like that!” Tony glanced in Donna Maria’s direction once she came in view. “Hey there DM -- you’re looking good, if I haven’t already mentioned it. I hear Wanda’s been helping you make the rounds, out at our fine, local shops.”

She smiled, waved a hand in modesty. “Thanks! I don’t need _too_ much help when it comes to shopping for clothes, Tony. But Wanda’s company makes it all more fun. And she's for sure helped speed the process, by educating me on what is where.” _Good. A compliment from a handsome playboy can only help._

Steve said nothing but eyed her briefly. She met his eyes as they were moving back up and smiled again. He returned it -- yet there was a touch of something else there. Was it sorrow? 

_Ah - you poor man! The day you cease beating yourself up for your urge to really live and love will be a joy filled one. For us both._ “So tell me, has SHIELD had any luck...ah...sucking Klaw out of his horn?” Realizing instantly how that sounded, she acknowledged to herself she might have worded it a bit better. Both men laughed -- and it _did_ serve to lighten Steve’s expression. 

“Well, that is one way of putting it,” Tony admitted with a grin. “And depending on who’s performing the sucking, maybe it _would_ serve to draw him out.” 

Donna Maria laughed too, wagging a finger in admonition. “You’re terrible! Won’t cut me any slack, even though English is my second language!” 

“Nope. None! Please refer to the Avengers membership charter. Specifically the section that states _’No slack will be cut for any Avenger, ever._ ’” 

“ _Anyway_ , to answer your question,” put in Steve, “SHIELD hasn’t had success in reconstituting Klaw. They’ll keep working on it -- but there’s still much that isn’t understood about Klaw’s form, and the science behind his technology and techniques.” 

Tony agreed, added “Hopefully, once the FF return from wherever they shot off to, they’ll be able to help us in tracking down the Thinker. No one has greater experience with him than they do. In the meanwhile, Jocasta's hard at work.” 

“Or,” Steve offered in turn, “who knows, maybe Marko will finally man up, do the right thing, and come to us.” 

Tony looked dubious, and Donna Maria gave a soft snort. “ _El Lodo --_ our friend Wanda turned to mud? That's right, you did say something about it to him. You really think so?” 

Steve shrugged his magnificent shoulders. “I'll grant you it’s not likely. But there’s always hope.” 

_Yes, Tiger...that there is. Hope for us, most especially._

* * * * * * * * *

An hour or so on, dinner was served at the mansion. Once Donna Maria saw Steve had carried his own out onto the veranda, she waited a minute or two and likewise made her way out. The rains of the previous days were gone -- there was just the vestige of a light, pleasant breeze. In passing by the thermometer, she noted the temperature sat at sixty four degrees Fahrenheit -- about seventeen or eighteen Celsius. Also quite pleasant. The sun had begun its descent -- and if there was one time of day she invariably looked forward to, it was sunset. Setting her plate down across from Steve then seating herself, she spoke: 

“It’s drawing close to my favorite time. I’m certain I shall never grow tired of watching the gorgeous sunset here in New York. I both read and hear about the many spectacular places to see it from. Some of which I've visited -- like that amazing rooftop bar on Hotel Indigo, that Wanda, Jan and I snuck off to.” 

Smiling, he replied “I heard something about it. Sounds like a perfect girls’ night out to me. The sunsets here are gorgeous, you’re right about that. New York is one of those places that’s kind of renown for it. _I’ve_ definitely not grown jaded about them, even as a native.” 

“Do you have a favorite place from which to see them?” She tried a bite of the chicken penne pasta that was the core of the evening meal. _Excellent, as usual -- Edwin Jarvis, if I wasn't so smitten by Steve Rogers I might pursue you for your kitchen talents._

“Hmm. I would say it's a toss up between Brooklyn Bridge and the Staten Island Ferry. From the bridge, you get that incredible view of the sun going down over the skyscrapers, as it leaves a glistening trail across the water. While the ferry -- watching the sun descend behind Lady Liberty, casting her in silhouette -- is really something. Then on the return, from the front of the boat, you get to see the approach to downtown, as the sky turns darker blue, and the lights of the towers grow nearer and brighter. Somebody once said it's the best hour you can spend in New York. And it may be true!" 

“Oh, wow! I have seen it from the bridge, and it is stunning. The ferry -- I've been out on it, but I didn't think to go at sunset! Lady Liberty in silhouette... of course, that’s so perfect for you,” she confirmed with a wink. “I bet it is breathtaking.” 

“Definitely. If you’re a connoisseur of sunsets, then your life isn’t complete. I most strongly recommend you go and do that, one evening.” 

“I believe I will,” she replied, after having a sip of her iced tea. “In fact, how about if I come along the next time you go?” 

For a moment, he was on the verge of agreement. She was _certain_ of it -- could see it in his face. And then there was a change. He said nothing. And she found that silence unbearable. _Need to lighten that mood -- humor worked last time!_

“I’m your therapist, right? This too is the sort of thing Dr. Puentes prescribes for her patients who -- ”

Steve raised a hand to halt her. “Donna Maria -- stop. Please. Listen to me,” he glanced to the side, to see if anyone else was about, then lowered his voice “I can’t -- and I do mean _I can’t_ \-- go watch sunsets with you. It’s not an activity for a man in a relationship to do with a woman _other_ than his partner. And I know you know that.” 

She shrugged, striving to convey innocence. “Okay, it _can_ be very romantic. But that doesn’t mean that we -- ” 

Again he halted her. “I’m going to have to ask you to please not do this again.” 

“Alright -- I’ll never ask if I can go look at a sunset with you again. I solemnly swear.” 

Shaking his head, he clarified “You’ve got to stop asking me to go places _alone_ with you.”

“I see.” She hesitated, dismayed and disarmed by hearing that -- but recovering quickly and countering “If I remember, you recently thanked me for the time we did go somewhere alone, and told me it was good for you.” 

“Yes. I did. And that was honest. But _please_ understand, you’re… you’re not the kind of woman a committed man can go hang out or be seen around with.” 

Hurt had already begun to well inside of her. A perceived insult accentuated it, and she lost the control she was trying to maintain. “What - ?” _Outrage_ was evident in her tone, and her eyes narrowed. Yet she did manage to lower her voice. “Are you -- are you calling me a slut?” 

“No! God, no!” Steve glanced sidelong to again check for the presence of others. “That is _not_ what I meant! At all. You’re single. And young, and…” 

Donna Maria rolled her eyes. “Guilty of the first. As for the second, I’m twenty-two. And a half. Where I come from at least, that’s well into adult years. Do you see me as immature?” He had also said ‘and’... “Or is it because I’m Hispanic?” 

He shook his head vehemently. “Neither. Your maturity is not in question. And my god, please know with certainty I’m no racist. My very best friend is a black man, remember? You’re insulted, and I _don’t_ want that.” He looked away for a few seconds. “Don’t you get it? Go find a mirror -- you’re a complete knockout! And that in _combination_ with being single is why I _can’t_ go places alone with you. How do you imagine my girlfriend -- who I’m trying hard to make things right with -- would feel? And I don’t want to hide it from her, or lie. That isn’t okay.” 

_It does seem Jocasta was accurate._ She smiled a little. “You're a loving, honest, and loyal man. That’s rare enough to find. Not even counting other qualities. I do hope your girlfriend properly appreciates all of that. My impression is she doesn’t. And you deserve better, _much_ better than --”

There were some voices audible from beyond the door into the mansion -- it sounded like Henry joking around with Jarvis. Steve looked that way before asserting “Listen. I’m hugely complimented by your interest. But you _must_ grasp that it’s Sharon I’m in love with. You and I -- we’re teammates, friends. But it _will_ not - will _never_ be anything more. Do you understand that?” 

There was a bare moment where she didn’t take it as truth. And then It was like a glass of icy water had been thrown into her face, as she registered Steve’s dead-serious expression. _Oh god damn! What a little fool I’ve been! All these months...I’ve only been seeing what I wished to see. He is honest, and he isn’t lying to me now! No matter how bad I wish otherwise..._

Donna Maria found she couldn’t restrain herself -- she _had_ to retreat from this humiliating, crushing defeat. Arising from the table, she took her plate and beverage with her. Her manner was superficially calm, but her eyes held the emotion that churned within. And though her voice was soft, her words and their tone scathed him:

“I absolutely understand. It’s great to think about screwing me, isn’t it? But, you’d rather be left with balls as blue as your uniform, and a romance that exists almost entirely in the past.” 

Steve looked as though he’d been slapped. His mouth opened but he had no words.

She wasn’t finished. “You speak of yourself as though you’re old at times, because of the year you were born. But you’re a man in his prime; that’s the reality. And you’re _wasting_ your life -- this part of it, anyway -- along with your love.” 

His lips set into a grim, hard line before answering “That’s for me to decide. We’re _done_ discussing this subject. _For good_.” 

She said nothing else, turned and started for the door -- bound and determined to keep what was roiling inside at bay till she reached the sanctuary of her room. She recognized the Beast’s bulk through the screen, right before Henry opened the door and stepped into her path. An unopened beer in his furry hand, he held the door open and moved to let her by.

“Aww, leaving just as I’m going out, DM? Man, I hope it’s not my deodorant.” 

She attempted a smile but it failed. “No, Henry, nothing to do with you. I just want a change of location.” 

“Well, there are many splendid locales to be had within our posh pad. Please find the very one that floats your boat! I -- ” He noticed her eyes. The flippancy was dropped. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He meant well, but this she didn’t need right now. She moved past him to continue on to her room. 

Hank merely nodded, let the door close in her wake, his demeanor both serious and curious. His attention swung to Steve and he made his way over. 

“Wowza! You don’t look too good, either.” He _nearly_ added _If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was the fallout of a lovers’ spat._ He bit back on the words as Steve gave him an almost baleful look. 

“I’m allowed not to. Nothing that needs to concern you.” Steve appeared to catch himself then, and he relented. “I could _really_ use one of those beers though, if there are any left.” 

“Sure. Take this one," he proffered, placing it down in Steve’s reach. “I’ll go get another. I may not know the reason, but I _totally_ know the feeling.” 

* * * * * * * * *

The days that followed were emotionally taxing ones for Donna Maria. She and Steve did their best to avoid each other except for matters of business, which were kept professional and straightforward as possible. She still performed all required or requested work to the best of her ability, in no way shirking her responsibilities. 

But by the second day after that conversation, she'd already given up on putting on an act to convince anyone that nothing was different. While she was still clean and neat, all of the attention and detail she had been putting into her appearance every morning ceased. She dressed simply with her hair often in a basic, low ponytail. She’d never worn a lot of makeup but there was less now, or sometimes none at all. There was no joy in working on herself the way she had been. In fact she _hated_ doing it. All of her inspiration was gone; and being made to face that only worsened the desolate feeling in her heart. Each night, she let go of the day’s pent up feelings as much as she could when she cried herself to sleep.

 _Damn it -- I will get through this! I must -- there’s no way in hell I’m deserting the team after giving my commitment! With enough time, I’ll heal -- I know I will. My heart will be whole again, and one day I’ll find love with someone who wants me. But -- right now, it hurts so much -- and I’m so lonely, even among these dear new friends. I - I wish I could hate you, Steve! It would be easier. But I don’t and never will. You did nothing wrong, and offered me as much as was honest. This mess of unrequited love is all on me._

Donna Maria’s fellow Avengers noticed the difference in her. Several inquired in private and she politely rebuffed each. Since she was functional on the job none of them pushed, though Wanda came close on one occasion. Donna Maria hugged her and assured she was okay, that it was only a mood that would pass. Once Tony was prepared to depart the mansion, he paused in his goodbye, and looked as though he might ask some question. But he did not, and was gone. Jocasta did not go with him however. She was to remain with the team for another week yet. 

Jocasta...who was striving so hard to understand the quirky, mammalian beings by whom she was surrounded, so that she might be of authentic help. And who was striving as hard to understand a few logic-defying aspects of herself; those which stemmed from the fact her computer mind was patterned on that of a living woman. She'd been created and programmed to be a bride and a mate, of sorts -- and recollected how her internal harmony was adversely affected once she deemed it necessary to rebel against Ultron. It had been not dissimilar to what human beings defined and perceived as pain. 

_Pain_ \-- as both psychological and physiological stress - was what she discerned in Donna Maria Puentes and Steven Rogers. Less optimal even than what occurred between herself and Ultron. Because it was unnecessary. A bug in an organic computer, that was creating discord, reducing the optimal health and functions of two worthy beings. She acknowledged she was legitimately bothered by it. And also aware that she could fix it. 

* * * * * * * * *

“Steve.”

“Yes Wanda?” He half-turned from the kitchen counter, where he was about to pour the high-protein smoothie he'd just finished blending.

Wanda came in from the arched entryway that led to the staircase. There was a particular look on her face. One that said -- to anybody reasonably acquainted with her -- there was some serious matter she wished to discuss. Steve saw that look and smiled faintly, in a way which might have been a little anxious. Or placatory. Or both. She continued toward him till she stood a few paces away. He set the blender jar down, then turned fully to face her. 

“Hey. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something. About some _one_.”

“Oh? Who is that?” The strain in his voice was apparent enough.

“Donna Maria.” 

His eyes instantly flicked over and past Wanda, toward one entryway and then the other. 

“She's not here right now. She went out.” Steve perceptibly relaxed for a second or two upon hearing it. Until it struck him that Wanda seemed to know precisely what he was worried about.

“And Janet is still with her husband. Jarvis is in the garden, and my husband and Hank are busy.” 

“All --alright. So. What’s up with Donna Maria?” 

“Well, to be blunt, I was kind of hoping you might tell me.” 

His eyes found the floor. “You were? I can’t tell you anything.” 

“ _That_ answer leads me to believe that you _could_. But that you’d rather not. For some reason.” 

His expression became unhappy. “Wanda, I -- look, we’re all adults. We all have ups and downs in our lives. Are you maybe prying, here?” 

“It isn’t my intent to. I only want to understand so I can help.” She stopped, appraising him. “You’re hurting too,” she said matter of factly, shaking her head. “I’m not going to push. But if you want to talk, I’ll listen without judging. I know you’re working to make things right between yourself and Sharon. Again. Which is stressful, more so over long distances. If you _are_ suffering any conflicted or confused feelings, it’s understandable. And there’s no shame. But, this _pain_ that’s hanging between you and Donna Maria...I would like to see it addressed. In a gentle way, so it can heal. For the team’s sake, as well as both of yours.” 

Steve’s frown was replaced by more of a poker face. He nodded. “I appreciate that. All of it. But please know my feelings aren’t conflicted or confused. As for Donna Maria... how about we give her more time, and see what happens? I -- I wish her all the happiness in the world, Wanda.” The smile that followed didn’t show in his eyes. “You know, Ms. Marvel’s already getting fan mail with love poems and offers of marriage. Someone’s sure to come in and sweep her off her feet. Soon, I’d think.” He tried for humor: “I just hope it _isn’t_ Clint, whenever he comes back.” 

Wanda did not require telepathy to read that Steve _didn’t_ find the thought funny. Nor that Donna Maria getting swept off her feet was anything that would make him smile. But as she told him, she wasn’t going to push. “Very well. We’ll give her time. Just know that I care. And my offer to listen will remain open.” 

”Thank you.” 

After they parted, Steve took his smoothie and went to the living room. There, he positioned himself to be able to look out the mansion’s bow windows. Beyond was the flame-colored foliage of the new fall season. On several occasions he'd watched another stand in front of these windows, while she gazed through them in delight. It had made him smile each time. But he did not smile now at the memory -- he’d not lately smiled much at all. He let go a sigh... 

Footsteps. Both by their distinct sound, as well as that Wanda had claimed the others were busy or away, it could only be:

“Beautiful, is it not?” said Jocasta. “The sights of the living, natural world, and its perpetual cycles. I’m not a part of it. Not in the way that human beings are. For which I believe I may know something akin to what you would call regret.” 

“Yes...beautiful,” he responded wistfully. Then shrugged. “Jocasta, there are pros and cons to being flesh and blood. Some of which I think you’d find frustrating, to say the least.” 

“Frustrating.” There was a pause. “What you deem as such stems from the actual or perceived inability to change or to achieve something.” 

He grunted. “More or less. Sometimes, a change or an achievement would screw up a previous achievement -- or flout a duty or a commitment. And the frustration comes from still having a… _desire_ , but being honorable and responsible enough _not_ to pursue it.” 

“A duty or a commitment is not unlike a computer program, in some ways. It isn’t good or bad in and of itself, but should be evaluated by the outcomes it produces.” She went silent after saying so. 

About to reply, Steve too went silent. His brow furrowed. After a time, he rubbed lightly the back of his neck. Then:

“The unique life of a human being is a precious thing, Steven Rogers. For all its sundry pitfalls and pains. Make the most of your own, and be well. I shall return to my work now.” 

“Uh, right. Thanks. Sorry I lost my train of thought, there.” He let go a breath, turned back toward the windows. And it wasn’t too long before he began to have thoughts about _her_. That developed into really thinking hard about what he had done. And what he _wished_ he had done instead. And what he _still_ wanted to do. What he _needed_ to do...

A pair of hours later Steve knew what he _must_ do. It was only a question of where and how soon. 

* * * * * * * * *

Donna Maria was doing her level best to treat this as a process. She found it approachable that way; was certain that if she did, and kept taking steps, one day her pain would be no more than a bad memory. She'd gone out for some hours -- for the first time since her dream was extinguished. And it had felt mostly good to do so. Making it a point to visit new places, not those where she'd done a lot of thinking about him. The mansion was sufficiently bad in that way. In an effort to make it less so, she strove to steer clear of those reminders that could be avoided. Which sadly included the baths she so cherished taking. And in which she had done _a lot_ of thinking, as well as other things fueled by such thinking. So showers it was for the time being. 

_It’s sort of funny_ , she reflected while taking one, _so much is made about sex in the shower. Yet once you’ve done it, you learn it’s just pretty awkward and distracting._ No, shower stalls weren’t an especial turn on -- but they did get the job done. She had emerged clean and refreshed, and after toweling off, belted on a silk, kimono-style robe. It was a favorite brought with her from Rio de Muerte, and _not_ acquired with Steve Rogers in mind. It made her happy it at least needn’t be branded a reminder. Since she'd eaten a dinner meal while out, there was no need to concern herself with going downstairs for food. Her monitor duty had been pulled during the early part of the day. The immediate plan was to kick back, let her hair continue to air dry, and find something good -- or at least passable -- to watch on TV. Anything romantic or soap like was out. A biography, a sitcom, an action show? She flipped channels with the handy remote, till she arrived at something that made her want to stop. 

_‘...say you will -- will be mine, mine, mine!  
Forever -- and always -- oh, oh!’ _

The little brunette on the screen was Linda Ronstadt -- a popular singer Donna Maria had taken a liking to after arriving in the states. Linda possessed a wonderful, profound voice -- could really belt it out. Had roots in Mexico on one side of the family, if she'd heard right. Linda did look more Hispanic than the German of her surname.

_‘...I thought I was dreamin’!  
But I was wrong, oh yeah yeah!  
Ah, but I'm gonna keep on schemin’ --  
Till I can make you, make you, my own!’ _

_Those words_ \-- until recently, the very kind of song she’d have fantasized about him to. 

_‘...so you see -- I really care, care, care!  
Without you -- I'm nothin’ -- oh, oh!’ _

Her heart began to hurt again. Her eyes misted…

_‘Just one look -- and I know, know, know!  
I'll get you -- someday -- oh, oh!’ _

_No! No, I was doing well -- I’m not going to lose it over a rock and roll song!_ The hand that held the remote trembled a little as her jaw clenched against the unwanted feelings. She knew it was necessary to have a good cry when it all needed to come out, but -- _Not right now! I want to relax and enjoy my evening first!_

A knock sounded upon the door to her bedroom. 

_Great._ She muted the TV. “Yes?” 

“Donna Maria- hey.” 

_Oh fucking god!_ The voice was enough. She didn’t need the low but audible statement of identity:

“It’s Steve. I - I’m sorry to bother you. I’d hoped I would see you at dinner. I really need to speak with you.” 

The mist crept back in her eyes. Her heart hurt _more_. _Too much._ She folded her arms, shook her head and swore silently. “Is it Avengers business?” 

“No -- it isn’t. But it’s no less important.” 

She chose to be direct, to try and get him to leave. “Things are cool between us, Steve. You don’t need to worry about it. I don’t need to hear an apology, if that’s what it is. You did nothing wrong.” _And you’re the only one of us it would help..._

He was quiet before responding. “I...do want to say I’m sorry. But that isn’t all.” 

_Hope_ began to kindle from the embers of her dream. She immediately doused it. “It can wait till tomorrow, I think? I just got out of the shower a little while ago.” 

“Tomorrow could work, sure. Look, I _really_ need to say this to you _now_. Face to face. Are you decent? Do you have a robe on? It won’t take long, I promise.” 

What was in his voice caused her heart to skip a beat. The hope sought to ignite again, while her pain had another bucket ready for it. Exasperation, resentment, anxiety -- they all rose and contested with what was still there -- what would likely _always_ be there -- the deep love she held for him. The love that made it possible for him to _wound_ her in ways which no one else really could… 

She took a breath. Tossed the remote onto the bed. “Yes. I’ve got a robe on. Hold on.” She crossed the distance to the door, carrying along ample amounts of reservation and doubt. Unlocking it, she hesitated briefly prior to opening it. 

Steve’s eyes met hers directly. Something of a rarity when they were not on duty. But it wasn’t only eye contact -- it was a sort of look he hadn't ever given her. One that Donna Maria found herself attempting to swiftly interpret. There was some sadness there. A bit of diffidence, she thought. Along with something else. Demeanor aside, he smelled and looked _incredible._ He wore a cologne -- just enough of one -- she had never known him to use before. One she was sure had been expensive. He was cleaned up and dressed almost as though he was ready to go out on a date -- in a pressed, angel-blue dress shirt with his hair meticulously combed and in place. 

She swallowed. So did he. They both had nothing to say for a moment. 

_Get it together, girl! He needs to do more than just look nice._ “So. What is it you wish to tell me?” 

“Donna Maria…” 

It was more or less exactly the way she had always wanted to hear him say her name. And it made her pulse quicken.

“...please, not here. Can I come in? Just give me four or five minutes. In private. Please.” 

She really tried not to relish that he sounded _almost_ as though he were begging. “Okay. Four or five minutes is fine.”

She stepped back from the door to allow him to enter. Steve closed it gently behind him, which she supposed didn’t bother her. This was one man she would never fear being alone with. Even while clad only in a robe, and even if she wasn’t Ms. Marvel. A part of her wanted to be thrilled, but she willfully quashed that. _Not too fast, here. One step at a time._ “You may sit there if you like,” indicating the available chair. She sat herself on her bed while he took the offer of the chair. 

After he had settled, he began in a humble sounding way “Alright. So where to start? How about confiding that my relationship with Sharon hasn’t been… _healthy_ for...awhile, now. And, that I’ve had a growing sense that it may not ever be again. We’ve been through...so very much, together. And for a good number of years, I _really_ believed she was the one, and that I -- ” 

Donna Maria held up a hand to forestall him -- much like what he’d done during the conversation where he had laid down the law for her. “In the interest of saving time, there are two things you don’t need to explain. The first being that your relationship isn’t healthy -- I get that. I made an attempt to tell you so, as you may recall? And I would bet my last peso that _everyone_ gets it. If you do too, then my congratulations on being more honest with yourself.” 

He looked down rather ashamedly, nodding slightly. She went on: 

“The second thing you don’t need to explain is why Sharon still matters to you, why you’ve felt reluctance to end things with her. I get that too. Though I also think the _extreme_ in which you've been clinging to what’s left is _muy loco_. As well as sad.” 

“Crazy. Sad…” He grimaced. “I can’t really argue. It has been those. Donna Maria, I…,” he licked his lips, “I need to admit something to you.” 

Her heart fluttered -- began to thump like a rabbit's back feet. “Yes? What is that, Steve?”

“All these months -- ever since Rio de Muerte, when Hector Santiago threw you into the pit with me, and I caught you in my arms, got a look at you -- I’ve been so, _so_ attracted to you. And, it’s...exactly why I’ve kept distance between us, and acted cool toward you. You...you’re _so_ damn beautiful. So madly alluring. Such a breathtaking woman.”

After all this time, it was near overwhelming to hear him say it. After the long and lonely months - the better part of a year now -- where she’d been left longing so ardently for him. Remaining alone out of choice, because she wanted no other man’s hands on her. And the blow he’d recently dealt her -- and the work she was doing to mitigate her pain, to move toward feeling _whole_ once more…

Donna Maria's defenses began to raise. She became flippant, waved a hand in hurt-tinged humor: “Ah, well, you did call me ‘foxy lady’ while we were in Zola’s madhouse. I thought perhaps you meant my ears and my tail? You know, I’ve really _tried_ to be beautiful for you, and _now_ you say so -- when I’m disheveled after my shower, with no makeup on, and -- ”

She ceased, was suddenly looking downward and breathing a little harder -- her body’s response to a surge of anger. It was only an aspect of those defenses. Beyond it was the real feeling -- the _anguish_. She bit her lip, then looked up into his eyes. The tears that glistened in her own she wasn’t able to hide. 

“Don’t play with me,” she implored. 

His expression was so concerned, so earnest. “No -- no, I _wouldn’t_ \-- I’m _not_ doing that, I swear. No games. I - I’m being as straightforward with you as I possibly can. I’m so sorry for any hurt I’ve done you -- I want _so_ much to do the opposite -- to heal your hurts, help bring the happiness that _should_ be yours.” He swallowed again, arose from the chair. 

Donna Maria assumed he was about to leave. _Fine. I can have my cry, sort my feelings -- speak with him tomorrow._ But she regarded him bemusedly when he didn’t start to leave, and instead continued: 

“And please know I’m hurting too. And so past sick of never being close to you.” He walked and sat down next to her on the bed. “No, foxy lady -- I wouldn’t play with you. At least -- not in any way you couldn’t enjoy.” 

She was again breathing harder, if for different reason, and noted he was as well. Nude beneath the robe, she was conscious of her nipples stiffening against the silk fabric. Her mind bade her still to defer this till tomorrow. But her body spoke otherwise. And her heart -- it yearned for what _only_ intimacy with this man would do for it...

If later on either were asked who had leaned in first for the initial kiss, neither would be able to say with any certainty. It was gentle, soft -- as was the second. But on that third -- their arms went about one another. And each grew rapidly desperate not to let the other go. Donna Maria’s defenses -- as well as any other lingering obstruction on either side -- all came down. And the pent-up, mutual passion that had gone too long thwarted was finally released in a heated torrent.

* * * * * * * * *

Jocasta was aware that he’d gone up to her room after being unable to locate her during the mansion’s dinner period. It had been a simple enough thing to accomplish. Requiring only the right electromagnetic stimulation of his hypothalamus, to enable it to overpower the resistance imposed by his cerebrum. And for his stifled procreative urge toward her to begin to be felt as intolerable. They were compassionate, conscientious beings who much complemented one another -- both comely specimens, by human aesthetic consideration. There was a goodly probability they would realize the much sought after, much nuanced state known as being in love. And it was one of those logic defiant, quasi-human aspects of her own nature that led Jocasta to experience something analogous to happiness -- knowing she had assisted in giving it an opportunity to flourish. 

* * * * * * * * *

There was a break in the lip-locked grappling, as they came up for air -- pink-cheeked and gasping, staring into each other’s eyes. Even amidst her tumult of emotion, Donna Maria had enough presence of mind to wonder if he -- Steve being Steve -- would stop it here. Assert that this was going too far too fast, and suggest things be taken more slowly. Which wasn’t _at all_ what she wanted. But… 

He didn’t speak, instead reaching toward her neck. With the movement of his arm and the slide of her robe -- back and down -- he exposed her shoulder. Pausing only briefly, he pulled further till her breast was out, his blond-head dipping toward it. With a soft cry, Donna Maria’s head went back as Steve’s tongue streaked across the slope until his mouth arrived at the nipple. His lips went over it and his tongue swirled, tracing a moist circle around her areola. 

“Oh -- oh, Steve,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair, caressing his ear. He gave a low, throaty sound, one hand moving to massage lightly the other breast through the silk that covered it. The contrast of sensation made her gasp -- eyes fluttering as her hand went to his shoulder. She rubbed and stroked the great muscle there, as she had so often wanted to. After a time Steve switched from what he’d been doing with his tongue to actively suckling. His massaging hand had no issue finding the other nipple, equally pert beneath the fabric. He rubbed at it with his thumb. 

“ _Ahh_ \-- mm, yeah -- ” she snorted, flinging back her head again, clutching at his bicep -- piqued thoroughly by the persistent friction, dry and wet, on her sensitive tits. “Ah! Ah!” After a certain amount of it, her head came forward abruptly: 

“I want this shirt off,” Donna Maria told him huskily. He didn’t argue and she helped him undo the buttons, quickly as they could manage without damaging it. He slipped it off, tossing it on the bed, pulled his undershirt over his head -- to display the superbly muscled physique she had fantasized many times being against or atop her. 

Steve left the bed to go down on a knee, his intent swiftly plain. Eagerly untying the belt, he tugged the robe from her other shoulder. It fell to lay like wings on either side of her, leaving her thighs still partially wrapped. His eyes drank her in, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. 

“So tell me, my honest man,” she goaded, “Do you think about me when you beat off?” 

“Yes! Yes, I do...you’ve made it so hard for me! I - I loved it when you came to live here, but it’s been hell seeing you, being near, but not being able to -- to …” 

“I’m no tease. I _want_ to take care of you. In all of the ways she hasn’t been doing! It’s heaven I want to give you - not hell.” 

In the look with which he regarded her was a heady mix of adoration and white-hot desire. It almost crushed her yet again - to finally be on the receiving end of that. The payoff for every ounce of _everything_ she’d put into her all-out effort to come back to the U.S., to find him, to be at his side, and to win him over. Her heart beat hard. It felt as if the whole of her being throbbed and sang with her own searing need.

Steve got up and placed his hands on her shoulders, urging her to lie back. When he moved to push off the robe’s remaining coverage, denuding her fully, the bulge in his jeans was noticeable. He went back to the floor to kneel-crouch. Hands on the insides of her thighs, spreading them wide, before moving in closer. They each breathed heatedly as he used his thumb to stroke back and forth across her mons, making her moan. With another of those throaty sounds his head descended, mouth settling over her core. At first she felt only the tickling of his breath. Then he started to work at her -- licking in maddening repetition. He continued assiduously in it, plying his tongue to productive effect. Heeding her fevered plea to not deviate what he was doing once he had _really_ found it. 

Eventually, her pelvis rocked upward while her hands grabbed and clawed the bed. She was by this point lubricating furiously, as he opened her up with mouth and fingers, petal by petal. His tongue went round and round in circles, about her clitoris, before flicking at it, just barely touching... 

“Sí, sí, sí, sí -- ” she chanted, lapsing into her native language: “¡Hazme venir, mi semental de oro -- hazme venir!”

Donna Maria’s back arched, conscious thought lost in the buildup of pleasure, the ecstatic engorging of her tissues. Her hips began to tremble and the muscles of her lower belly to ripple, as the work of Steve's encompassing mouth served to propel her over the edge. She let forth a single, short, high cry, prior to crying out in succession to the rhythm of her contractions. Ecstasy engulfed her, hips lurching vigorously before she was left dazed and sated in the wake of it. Through clearing senses, she watched Steve’s head come up and saw his chest heaving like a bull’s. Perspiration glistened on his torso as it did upon her own body, and she could smell his distinct musk mingled with the cologne. She'd no need to glimpse the consuming tension in his face to know precisely what he needed. Pushing herself up to sit, she instructed him: 

“Stand up, super-soldier.” 

He complied readily, the bulge in his pants prominent. As she had told him, she wasn't a tease -- but she _did_ plan to prolong this some -- try to trigger in him an explosion he would not soon forget. Just in case there would be any second thoughts about staying with Sharon. She reached and placed her hand flush against his abdomen -- reveling in the feel and sight of its grid-like muscles. Donna Maria rubbed slowly there, in circular motion -- reflecting that they did seem to be getting a good bit of mileage out of circular motion... 

“Mmm… mm hm…” she enticed, licking her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Around she went, with the same even strokes. A bead of sweat wended its way down one of his sides. Until with no more preamble she unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the pant-loops, discarding it onto the bed. Next undoing and pulling down his jeans, to reveal a pair of striped boxers, and the straining hard-on that poked from beneath. She wasted no time there, yanking down the shorts to liberate it. Up and up and up it flicked upon release, rampant and reddish. Like the rest of him his manhood was well proportioned, with a pleasing looking girth. 

“Well, the U.S. flag pole looks to be at full-staff. But don’t ask me to salute, or sing an anthem -- I’ve got other things to do with my hands and my mouth.” 

“Oh -- oh, Donna Maria! Yes, please… I -- I - ” 

She cupped his scrotum in her hand -- gently but firmly massaging. It was all she did for a time. Intentionally avoiding any other part, delighting in the taut, fuzzy texture on her ministering fingers and palm. She had known from the beginning this was a man with some serious balls. There was a symbolic satisfaction, in having them lovingly in hand, as he groaned and panted for her to bestow the release he craved. 

“Oh Steve...you know what goes up... _must_ come down.” 

Donna Maria resituated on the bed so she was on her shins, beckoning him nearer by crooking a finger. She leaned forth onto her hands, briefly raising one to take and guide little more than the crown between her waiting lips. She heard him gasp, felt him quiver as her tongue explored the underside of the thick, silken knob, swirling all over the v-shaped spot. His hands raised, started toward her, stopped -- 

She let him slip from her mouth to flick straight up again, egging him “Go on -- put your hands on my head, in my hair -- just like you want to.” He needed no more urging and did, right after she put him back in. Donna Maria applied steady pressure on the head, lashing and licking, beneath and around... 

“God, baby!” 

She enjoyed _that_ \-- not having heard him call her ‘baby’ since a never-forgotten moment in Zola’s castle. It spurred her on -- and she continued to work solely on the crown. He jerked powerfully, and she knew it was time for the finale. Shifting from shins to knees, remaining on all fours, her mouth swooped over him till her lips were near to his base as she could go without choking. She set a rhythm and stuck to it. It needed not much before Steve reared up and blossomed wetly. Injecting her mouth and throat with his semen. Filling them, as his repeated, primal grunts filled her ears. 

* * * * * * * * *

It was hard to remember when she last felt such bliss as she did now. She didn't think she ever had. Oh, she wasn’t fool enough to believe that doing this once was guarantee of anything. But that they had crossed the line between friends and lovers could not be erased. And he hadn't run off to get his laundry out of the dryer afterward. It was, she decided, the best part of all -- laying with him in the sheets of her bed -- nestling, nuzzling, caressing -- now and then speaking softly, murmuring endearments and tender things. She knew him, knew his nature -- and he was now being very honest with her -- now that he'd chosen to close the distance at last. There was no way to know exactly what the following day would bring. But she was certain this wasn’t going to just vanish. And, before the next day, there was the remainder of the evening, and then the night. Kicking him out wasn't her plan if it was his desire to stay. For the time being she was warm and contented in the arms of the only lover she wanted. And for the time being it was more than enough. As Donna Maria realized it, tears brimmed in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

“What’s wrong-?” Steve queried, the concern and sensitivity with which he did only making her cry _more._

“I’m _happy_ , you ass!” she summarily informed him. 

Steve chuckled with relief, “Me too, baby,” wiping delicately at those tears, “Me too.” 


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve takes Donna Maria up on a suggestion previously shot down. And our pair gets more action, of more than one sort. Yet things are not always what they seem, as some new acquaintances so well illustrate. And though Donna Maria is thrilled with her blossoming relationship, not everyone is as enthusiastic. Which makes for a little tension...

Four days later, early evening ::

_“...so you think she'd be willing to see me again? And again and again and again?”_

_“Is this your heart going thumpity-thumpity-thump? Oh, do yourself a favor. And don’t fall in love during a war.”_

_“Why shouldn't he?”_

_“Because war is cruel. For every hello, there are two good-byes.”_

“Ain't it the truth,” Henry McCoy nodded his accord with the gentleman on the screen, “Ain’t it the truth.” He took another bite of the tasty gyro-style sandwich he was enjoying, and washed it down with a swig of Perrier.

_“...I wonder if she'd go out to dinner with me?”_

_“Love and war don't mix. The rockets' red glare is no candlelit supper.”_

“Watching a little MASH are we, Mr. McCoy?” Janet remarked as she diverted from wherever she had been heading to peer at the TV. “Is it a good episode?” 

“Uh huh. I think it’s meandering its way toward being a tear jerker. Ol’ Hawkeye is fallin’ for this Korean nurse he’s met, who is quite the gal. But you just know their sweet _luuuv_ isn’t gonna survive the end of the episode.” 

_“...no. I mean let's have dinner. Let's go out.”_

_“Where?”_

_“Uncle Ho's. We can eat by candlelight.”_

_“Uncle Ho’s has been bombed out for six months!”_

_“I know. You can always get a table there now.”_

“Funny stuff. They’ve got to preserve his bachelor status, of course. Hey - Steve and Donna both left, didn’t they?”

“Uh huh. ‘Bout an hour or so ago.” He did another bite of sandwich and swig of Perrier.

“Hm.” Jan watched the show some moments before inquiring: “Did they say where they were going?” 

“Oh...something about running off to watch the sunset.” 

_“...what do you say? We can take our own food. We'll get a break from the war! I'll pick you up tomorrow night around seven o’clock, okay?”_

“Hank -- ” Jan scrunched her lips, seeming to consider her next words before just bluntly asking: “Are Cap and Donna Maria -- you know -- _seeing_ each other?” 

“ _Well_ , now. You want that confirmed as fact? Or are you soliciting my surmise?” 

“I’m surmise soliciting. Assuming you have no fact to share.” 

“That I do not. But, signs suggest ‘twould be a wee bit of a stretch to continue to say they’re _just friends_.” 

Jan nodded. “That’s what I’m hear…seeing too,” she amended. “Hm. So Steve broke up with Sharon, then?” 

Hank shrugged. “No data for you, Mrs. Pym. And though it is abso-tutely none o’ my beeswax, I will annotate I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner, if in fact it did happen.”

“Well, I mean, he wouldn’t be seeing Donna Maria if he _hadn't_ broken up with Sharon, would he? That wouldn’t be like Steve.” 

“Alas, milady, this simian seer hath shared with thee what little sooth he has. And wishest our esteemed captain and marvelous miss all the best, if indeed they be the latest Avengers love story. Now”, he indicated the MASH episode in progress, “this is _really_ starting to get good, and I must return to it mine attention undivided.” 

_“...I hope you like dried fish.”_

_“I love dried fish! I hope you love pork and beans. What's the matter?”_

_“I'm afraid.”_

_“Of what?”_

_“That this will go too far.”_

(TV dialog excerpted from MASH Season 6, Ep 7 - “In Love and War”)

* * * * * * * * * 

The Staten Island Ferry's origins dated back to the early 1800s, when the Richmond Turnpike Company started a steamboat service from Manhattan to Staten Island. Cornelius Vanderbilt --an American business magnate who built his wealth in railroads and shipping -- bought Richmond Turnpike in 1838, which went on to merge with a pair of competitors two decades later. Following other acquisitions and mergers, the City of New York assumed control shortly after the turn of the century. The city and various private companies had also operated ferry services from Staten Island to Brooklyn, but with the growth of vehicle travel all such routes were decommissioned by the mid-60s. Since then, the Staten Island-to-Manhattan ferry was the _only_ commuter ferry within the city, owing mostly to its enduring popularity with the public. 

In spite of what the name might imply, the service consisted of a small fleet of ships. Among them, _The John F. Kennedy_ was considered by its captains to be the most reliable of vessels. It was well loved by passengers too: boasting abundant open-air deck space and wooden seating far more comfortable than the plastic used in the newer boats. 

And it was the Kennedy a pair of new lovers had boarded, in order to enjoy the dazzling New York Harbor sunset. 

Steve suggested the outing after he and Donna Maria had arose this morning. It immediately lit her face with a smile -- knowing well why he’d chosen it -- and loving him for the gesture. She’d kissed his cheek in response and said simply “Just tell me what time.” 

At Whitehall Terminal, they’d headed to the ferry's starboard side and after having embarked, made their way upstairs to the outdoor deck. There staking a spot along the railing as far toward the back as possible, to ensure the best view. They stood close, salty breeze stirring their hair, conversing over the whir of the propeller engines and the churning of the waters. 

“...so, one day when we aren’t in public, I’ll have to tell you about that ally of mine from the war. The one who was quite the mariner. Anytime I’m out in the water, I can’t help but think of him, and some of the experiences we had working together.” 

By _the war_ Donna Maria knew he did not mean Vietnam, as most men who looked his age would. She was aware too he was referencing a guy who supposedly was the monarch of an undersea kingdom, and who'd had some trouble deciding which side he was on in more recent times. He was _also_ the man who inadvertently freed Steve from the ice...

“I’m sure that would be interesting to hear,” she answered, while ensuring her camera was ready to shoot. “And if I ever chance to meet him, I’ll give him a hug.” 

“Oh? Because you have a thing for men with royal blood? Or is it well built swimmers in speedos?” 

“No...not so much. I prefer a sexy soldier, or artist, in a nice pair of boxers. But I’d _really_ like to thank him for your being around, so you could become part of my life.” 

Steve smiled, leaned and placed a hand upon her back, kissing her head while putting his face in her hair for a moment. “You know, I’d really like to do the same.” 

She pressed into his warmth -- relishing the combined scent of leather bomber jacket and cologne he’d taken to wearing since their first time together. Which she now knew to be Ralph Lauren brand. “Mm. You might wish to even more, after tonight. I have a few things in mind.” 

He kissed her head again, rubbed her back. “I bet you do,” he enthused before turning her toward him, then kissing her fully. 

“ _Mmm_ …” Donna Maria was instantly in heaven -- she’d been so, _so_ starved for this -- the sensuality they shared every day now; the love making they indulged in, around their monitor schedules and other duties. It was almost not enough -- she yearned for him _constantly_. Though had no intention of making it over-obvious: 

“Okay - that’s enough!” she chastised, after breaking from the kiss, “If I’m seeing all these hearts, I’ll miss the sunset, and Ms. Liberty’s silhouette. As well as some wonderful photos to send to my family.” 

“Far be it from me to deprive your family of any beauty they’d enjoy seeing,” he grinned. “What with all the beauty they’ve given me.” 

“You _do_ have a knack for saying the right thing, mister.” 

“Because you make it easy, sister,” he winked. 

“Flattery will get you many places,” she winked back. “And might earn some extra special rewards.” 

“Flattery? You believe I’m flattering you? I deal merely in the facts. But I will gladly collect those rewards.” 

Steve was echoing something she'd said on the cab ride back from Shaker’s Diner, which made her laugh. Donna Maria hugged him, felt his arms go about her; basking in the affection as they stood like that for a time. 

_I love you_ \-- it would be so very easy to say -- just as she came near to doing when they were in bed. But there was a time for those words, and it was too early. She knew that. It didn’t stop them from resonating in her heart and soul however. 

The trip landed them at St. George Terminal and -- much as where they’d embarked -- there was nothing scenic about it. Donna Maria hadn’t heard too much about Staten Island, and so asked Steve what it was like. His answer did nothing to make her sorry they weren’t going to stay. Although she lived in comfort and fair opulence, New York in general had a distinct division between poor and wealthy, that had grown more pronounced since the early part of the decade. Such division was a hard fact of life back in Central America, as so many places -- but it came as a surprise to learn the largest city in the US - the world’s center of banking, finance and communication - was in process of recovering from a financial crisis. Its shorter term debt had at least been paid off, so far as she understood. 

And there were other reasons not to linger. One being that the ferry had offered no night time service for some years now. If they didn’t take the next trip back, it would mean riding the bus across the bridge to pick up the subway in Brooklyn. More, it'd cause them to miss what the water route back to Manhattan offered. And as epic as seeing the statue in silhouette had been, Donna Maria found what she next beheld - this time from the Kennedy's front deck - to be even more dazzling. It was exactly as Steve described and promised: set against a dark blue sky, the myriad lights on the structures and towers of downtown shone resplendent and star-like. Camera once more at the ready, she angled, aimed, focused, and clicked with diligence, striving for the most striking images she could capture. 

“I’m willing to bet you’ve got some great ones,” commented Steve. “And I hope the Puentes family enjoys seeing some of America’s best features. Naturally _I'll_ be wanting copies of those I took, with you in them.” 

“I hope most of them turn out too.” She had doubts about those of herself -- with the flash and the wind. “I’m sure they'll like them if so -- especially my cousin, Ernesto. He's pretty obsessed with the US. Which, by the way, is more truly what we speak of than _America_. You realize where I come from is America too, hey?” 

“Ah. Yes -- yes, I do realize that. Though not infrequently forget. As do many of my countrymen. Hm. My alias is kind of a misnomer, in fact. Either that, or maybe I need to expand my concerns.” 

“We _could_ use the help -- but there would be complications, and it would not be so well received,” she supplied, while preparing to snap another photo. 

“That's so. And I’d be lying to say we so-called Americans can’t be pretty arrogant and nationalistic. But I don’t want you under the impression my caring extends _only_ to people who live here.”

She snapped the shot, then smiled “I know it doesn’t. And also that this country alone keeps you and our team very busy. It seems to breed super-loonies in alarming numbers.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah -- it does. We have joked about it more than once. Though it isn’t truly funny. But until the next pops up, I can keep more of my attention on you, sultry señorita.” 

“That’s acceptable. I’m sure something _else_ will keep popping up in the meanwhile,” Donna Maria’s smile was more than a little wicked. She decided she was about done with the photographing, and wanted to just enjoy the remainder of the ride. There was, though, a particular question on her mind. 

“So...have you spoken with Sharon?” 

Steve looked out over the water and sighed. “No. I haven’t. Not yet. Still thinking about how I want to put it to her.” 

“Okay. That’s understandable.” It was...and it wasn’t. She didn’t want to let it eat at her...but the truth was it did. 

The change in her expression wasn’t lost on him: “Hey.” His hand went to her shoulder. “I _will_ talk to her, and I _will_ wrap things up. I promise you. It’s just...” he shook his head, “I’m not looking forward to the conversation, I admit. And I want to do it in the best way possible. It’d only be wishful thinking to expect there won’t be hard feelings. But it’s important to me to not have any more than there must be.” 

“Of course.” She did her best to convey confidence she wasn’t really feeling. “I know you -- you can play the stern soldier whenever you need to. But beneath it you’re a sweetie, a softie. You never want to hurt anyone.” She glanced down. “Just...be honest with me. Don’t ever shade things because you think it will be kinder.” 

“Noted. And how’s this for a little honesty?” He drew her in for a deep, passionate kiss. 

“Get a room!” called someone from a distance behind. 

They would share one again this night, both having done their monitor shifts. She probably _should_ cut him off, till he formally and fully ended things with Sharon. But Donna Maria knew she wasn’t going to do so. Would not be able to bring herself to… 

_Am I being weak? Maybe...but if his mind does change, I want to have had as much of him as possible. Wrung every last minute I could get, no matter how the memory may hurt after!_

Before long, their excursion aboard the Kennedy was over. The ferry arrived back at Manhattan’s southernmost end. They walked from the gangplank to the streets in order to find a cab. That being their first choice -- if it didn’t pan out, then the subway was just literally steps away. And that _was_ its only virtue -- that it was nearby. The system hadn't fared well in the face of the fiscal crisis. Crime, graffiti, and mechanical issues had become its hallmarks. So Donna Maria had heard. 

“Well bugger,” said Steve, after thirty five minutes without luck. “The subway should pull in in about five minutes. How do you feel about jumping on? Would you rather keep trying for a cab?” 

She made a brief, negating gesture, “No, not really. The subway is fine. Not like either of us needs to worry about muggers. I guess the real worry is if it breaks down, and we get stalled?” She shrugged, winked, and added, tongue in cheek “I’m sure my seventh sense would warn us. I’m not seeing anything. Let’s go for it.” 

“Hardly the carriage ride I’d like for my lady,” he quipped with a wry look, “But since you’re as gutsy as you are head to toe gorgeous -- c’mon.” He extended his hand to her. 

She accepted, loving so that it was hers to hold, appealing silently to whatever benevolent powers might be listening: _I’m so crazy over him! Please, please give us time -- don’t take him from me!_

* * * * * * * * * 

Donna Maria saw immediately that the subway offered _a lot_ of reading material. The graffiti work -- interior as well as exterior -- was extensive. As they sped onward, Steve was filling her in on the quirks and nomenclature that were part of the culture that produced it. 

“...so, if a particular artist has prominent work in all five of New York’s boroughs, he gets to call himself a 'king.' And, once a train is pretty much covered in it, it’s referred to as a ‘masterpiece.’” 

“I see,” she nodded. “Hailing from where I do, I’m no stranger to this kind of work. It’s usual enough to see it as street art. Often, to air issues of controversy in public. And I think it’s good. I’m mostly a fan.” 

He nodded in turn. “It’s gotten a bit excessive. But it does provide a voice for those who wouldn’t otherwise have much of one. There’s no doubt of that. It doesn’t hurt anybody, and appeals to the artist in me, too.” He paused to look closely at her, with concern. “Are you okay?”

She was blinking, frowning. One hand went to her temple. _Yes...yes, it’s beginning all right..._

“Donna Maria,” Steve queried in a lowered voice, “Is that what I think it is?” 

“It is.” He'd seen it happen a number of times. Her seventh sense was at work, after having joked about it. Yet as the images began to pervade her consciousness, they proved to have nothing whatever to do with their train. Beyond that they _must_ get off to deal with what she was seeing… 

“Canal Street Station...it's the next stop?”

“It is coming up next. Trouble there?”

“Not there. An alley nearby. There’s an exit at Sixth Avenue, I belive?”

“Yes. Can you tell me what-?”

She glanced at the others about them, then leaned to whisper into his ear. Steve’s eyes widened, narrowed, he nodded once. “As soon as we’re off, follow me straight to the exit. I know right where it is. And this is why I told you, always bring…” 

_...your mask._ Which she did in fact have. He rose, and Donna Maria went with him to go stand near the door. Her purse, her camera, the pictures...they’d quite likely be lost somewhere en route. But she spared it little attention. It was inconsequential in the face of what they _had_ to prevent. They traded a solemn look, waiting anxiously for the door to open at the impending stop: 

_Oh god -- seventh sense has always given enough warning to avert the worst! Let this time be no different!_

Post arrival, the door slid open with a hiss, and they were out navigating through the crowd, Steve in the lead. A smell like day-old fried chicken mingled with something even less savory invaded her nostrils. Had she not been focused on an emergency, she’d have paused to wonder if collecting trash had gone out of style. Breaking into a run as soon as they were clear of the packed part of the crowd, they headed down a hallway toward the stairs. 

“Damn -- you two have’ta get home to watch your favorite show, or somethin’? I think The Love Boat's already over!” exclaimed a guy they passed, in disgruntlement at their headlong haste. 

It was imperative they don masks _before_ reaching the street; the alcove containing the door to the men’s restroom presented itself as the best, perhaps only chance to do so. Masks alone were far from great disguise -- but that too could not be worried about. Fortunately, no one chose that moment to exit the bathroom. In short order they covered the remaining distance to the stairway, and mounted the steps. And Donna Maria took off from there -- her flight propelling her toward the exit; weaving nimbly in and around those between her and it. 

“Wait!” shouted Steve as he sprinted after, multiple steps at a time -- “Let’s go in together!” More than one jaw was by now agape. Fingers pointed with various exclamations, at sight of a flying woman, along with Captain America’s renown mask. 

That might be sound strategy. Or him being over protective. Or both. It was ignored as she poured on the speed -- as much so as possible without endangering anyone or setting herself up for a crash. She passed the exit out into the night air, arcing swiftly to the right, toward the alleyway she knew she would find. Discarding purse and camera without slowing an iota, Ms. Marvel continued past its entrance straight toward the shadowed figures ahead -- one youthful, and human, another plainly not. That latter she plowed into -- striking with considerable force.

The resulting bellow likewise was not human -- and neither the ebon scales her fist had struck. It almost may as well have been _Iron Man_ she slugged. Though it was not to say her target was _impervious_. The power of her blow sent it hurtling down the alley, into the dead end, where it fell prone... 

_Man, it would be *nice* if it was down for the count!_ “Get out of here - go, run!” she exhorted the slim black girl - perhaps twelve years of age - who stood off to her right. Donna Maria was surprised she need say _anything_. But the child might be in shock. 

It arose, shaking its head -- standing to easily six and a half feet before crouching menacingly, with its _four arms_ and twitching, serpentine tail... 

The girl shook her head vehemently. “No! No, he won’t hurt me - you don’t understand!” 

“Are you kidding? I _saw_ it -- _him_ snarling at you, about to -- ” 

The creature sprang, charging with speed as inhuman as its appearance. A flight enhanced leap carried her above the pair of arms trying to grapple, as well as the pair intent on mauling. About to bring her feet down on her opponent’s skull, the now obviously prehensile tail coiled tightly around her ankles, then slammed her to the ground. Fortunately she caught herself on her forearms, _not_ her face. She flipped over in time to see the quartet of club-like fists poised to strike, and the rage that burned in amber, slit-pupil eyes. 

And suddenly Steve was there: one of his arms encircling the thing’s neck. Grasping the bicep of his other arm in a choke-hold that would rob a human foe of consciousness. 

It was _not_ a human foe -- the tail unwound near instantly to be used against him, as the upper arms strove to pry loose his grip, as Donna Maria faced the assault of the remaining fists. The previous move had taken her by surprise. There was none now and she defended deftly, regaining her feet, moving slightly beyond reach. 

“Get the girl out of here!” directed Steve. “Do it! I’ll -- his words choked off as the tail went about _his_ neck and began to strangle him. 

The girl _was_ still there; apparently continuing to believe she wasn’t in danger. Perhaps it was so-? But _Steve_ was, and Donna Maria _wasn’t_ going to leave him. Her flight took her up just enough to compensate for the height difference. The creature tried to block, but her left hook came in too fast. Her fist hammered into its jaw, twisting its head toward the side, and causing it to stagger dazedly the same direction. The tail then loosened and Steve was able to pull it off. 

“Please -- _please_ don’t fight with them!” the girl implored their adversary, moving a step nearer. “I - I think they’re Avengers! Don’t fight them!” When next she addressed them it was in desperation, with tears in her eyes. “If he stops fighting, then you’ll stop too - _right_?” 

Donna Maria maintained a defensive stance, as did Steve -- watching the creature while it groaned, growled, put one hand to its jaw, while the other three opened then clenched again into fists. “Who _is_ this -- how do you know him?” 

“He’s Jason! He’s m- my brother.” 

_Oh boy._ “Is he? I have...a _sense_ that shows when someone’s in danger - so they can be helped in time. And I saw 'Jason' snarling at you, raising his hands, as though he was about to -- ” 

“H-he gets frustrated sometimes -- but he wouldn’t hurt me -- or anybody! ‘Less they hurt him first.” 

“Can he speak?” asked Steve. 

“No - not so much. But he understands fine. It’s still him!” 

Plainly as wary as they, the creature - _Jason_ nodded slowly, scaled face incapable of much expression. 

“What happened? How did he get this way?” 

The girl shrugged, her own expression pained and sad. “Just started to change, one day - first the scales -- later, the arms and tail.” 

“Where does he stay?” 

The girl looked and pointed _up._

“He flies?” inquired Donna Maria. 

“He climbs,” she corrected her. 

“The rooftops,” put in Steve. “And I’m supposing he hides, sleeps, during the light hours?” 

“Yeah, that’s right,” she nodded. 

Donna Maria glanced toward Steve, uncertain what to say or do. It sounded Jason was a victim of ill-fortune, and in need of help. _And yet if it isn’t the truth, if the girl is wrong…_

In any case he'd grown increasingly antsy as they spoke - eyes flicking twice to the nearest wall. Steve noticed, opened his mouth to say something -- when without any other warning Jason tensed then leapt onto it, scrambling rapidly _up_ with a facility even Spider-Man might envy. Reflexively, she levitated up with him. 

“Oh just let him go, please!” begged his sister. 

“Yes; let him be, don’t pursue,” concurred Steve. 

Biting her lip, she watched Jason’s unearthly form disappear over the roof’s edge, tail vanishing last of all. Then descended to the ground. 

“May I ask your name, miss?” Steve asked of the girl. 

“L- Lisa Roberts. Th- thank you for not chasing him, thank you _so_ much,” her gratitude clearly genuine. 

“I’m sorry for the violence, Lisa,” said Donna Maria. “But what I saw, it didn’t look good. And, I _felt_ the peril...” she shook her head, trailing off, knowing it might sound crazy to someone who’d no understanding of her ability. She truly _had_ felt it. _So then why…_

“I - I understand. Everyone thinks he’s a monster; I know he _looks_ like one. But he’s not!” 

“No, not a monster. Most likely a mutant,” suggested Steve. “Different...which doesn’t mean dangerous, or evil.” 

“My uncle tells everybody mutants _are_ monsters.” 

“The two on the Avengers with us are as far from being monsters as you can get,” she told Lisa earnestly. Which led to a thought: “Cap, maybe we _should_ go after Jason, and invite him to the mansion?” 

“Not a terrible idea. But, I think Jason would be better approached by those whose education and focus is mutants.” He extracted his wallet from the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a plain, white business card. He handed it to Lisa. 

“Lisa, I think your brother could use some assistance. From kindly people who understand, and can help. Among other things, he needs friends with who he can just be himself.” As the girl eyed the card dubiously, he pointed to his mask: “I believe you know who I am. And I promise you, I really _promise_ you, there’s no trick here. Find a phone you can use in private, and dial that number. And talk to the person who answers about Jason. Please.” 

“Okay. I guess I will. Thank you.” 

“You won’t regret doing it, I swear. Now, it’s getting pretty late - do you need help getting home?” 

“Uh uh. I don’t live too far. I’ll be alright.” 

A beam of light intruded on their conversation. Heralding the arrival of the NYPD... 

Which was convenient enough. A display of Avengers ID established their authority; aided in glossing the details of the situation. And also facilitated a ride for Lisa, who on second asking decided to accept. As did Cap and Ms. Marvel - her denim jacket and top sporting several tears from the fight. Nothing extensive, but enough that riding home in public was not her first choice. And too, the risk somebody might identify her as the chick who went flying out of the station. 

Soon, they were completing their return trip in the back of a squad car: 

“Are you okay?” Steve’s hand went to her arm, when he noticed her frown. “Bummed out about your camera getting broken? It just gives us an excuse to make the trip again, you know.”

“No. I mean, I’m not happy about losing the pictures. But...what I was thinking about was my _seventh sense_. It’s never _not_ worked before. And it’s been so helpful, so valuable. I hate to think it might be going haywire.”

He considered. Then proffered “I understand. But think about it in this way: if Lisa wasn’t in danger, then maybe Jason _was_. Not _from_ Lisa,” he added, as he noted her surprise, “I mean more in general. With his situation -- the life he’s living.” 

“Ohh...now I’d not thought of it that way. That card you gave...it’s Henry’s people, isn’t it? The professor he and you told me about?” 

“It is. And that organization could have a big, positive impact on that young man’s life. Perhaps _save_ his life. In which case, I’d say your sense is working fine. A misunderstanding and a little bruising notwithstanding.” 

She was pensive a moment, her features reflecting that. Until she smiled: “You’re a clever one, Tiger. I’ve told you so before, haven’t I?” 

He nodded, “You have. The very first time we met, as I recall. I was hammering stakes into the side of a pit. Pits don’t usually offer much, in the way of scenery.” He placed his hand on hers: “But it wasn’t so on that occasion. I might have been happy to stay down there, if not for the Man-Fish, and some other friends.” 

Donna Maria laughed. She did wonder if ‘some other friends’ included Sharon. Or if he wasn’t even thinking about her. “I can’t say I’ll ever feel sentimental about that pit, exactly. Even if it is a place I’ll forever remember.” 

He stroked her hand, before removing his. She wanted to cuddle, but with the cop up front...they hadn’t yet discussed Captain America and Ms. Marvel being an item. It went without saying, he wouldn’t want that getting out prior to his talk with Sharon. 

_Looking forward to it or no, regard for her feelings or no, please don’t put it off much longer!_

* * * * * * * * * 

Being back at the mansion was welcome after that experience. She found Jason and Lisa Roberts occupying her thoughts. Ms. Marvel’s powers were all upside: super strong and resilient, without mammoth muscle and plated flesh. Able to soar without wings -- and able to roam freely as Donna Maria, drawing attention that was only complimentary, if at times unwanted or annoying. In truth she had it great. _How_ Jason Roberts managed to stay _sane_ amidst the lonely, tragic life he led, she did not know. Steve said he wasn’t going to only count on Lisa placing that phone call. He would contact Professor Xavier’s organization himself. Supposedly, they had the means to locate and track a mutant. And though that might upset one or both of the Roberts siblings, Donna Maria believed it _was_ the right thing to do. 

After changing her clothes, cleaning up a bit, she went downstairs to raid the fridge for a smoothie, if anyone had left a pitcher, or concoct her own if no. As it happened, Janet was in the kitchen doing just that. 

“Hey there,” greeted Mrs. Pym, glancing up while pausing the blender, “Glad you’re back. You and Steve got into a little something out there, I understand.” 

“We did.” She walked nearer, toward the kitchen’s island, her arms folded. “Nothing so straight forward as a mugging or robbery. A misunderstanding with a mutant -- _probably_ a mutant -- one who’s got a really tough life.” 

Jan nodded. “Cap told me that much.” She resumed blending, focusing on that a time, till it was done. “It _is_ really tough for some of them. Those who don’t look entirely human. Our dear Mr. McCoy may have told you something about that.” She got a glass, began to pour her product. 

Henry _hadn’t_ really spoken to her about such experiences; save lightly, in passing jest. As an Avenger, the Beast was known as a hero, familiar in a way most mutants were not. He was also charming and upbeat to a degree that made it hard - and sad - to imagine him the target of ugly prejudice. 

“He’s never said much to me about it. But, I’ve no doubt he does know what it’s like.” 

“Want some of this?” Jan indicated the blender. “I made plenty. It’s strawberry-banana -- plus some other goodies.” 

“Ah, one of my favorites -- and what I came for. If you do have enough, sure, please.” 

Jan poured a second glass, placed it on the island. “There you go. So. You and Steve have a good time together, before all of that?” 

There was the faintest emphasis on ‘together’ Donna Maria thought. It made her hesitatant. “Yes...we had a good time. Watching the sunset aboard the ferry.” She picked up the glass, took a sip. “Mmm -- hits the spot -- thank you.”

“No problem. Steve is great company -- when he’s able to relax,” Jan said smiling. “And the movie star looks don’t hurt, of course. Sharon sure knew what she was doing, when she snared him. Have you met Sharon, yet?” 

_Okay, here we go…_ Was it what they called here...a _loaded question?_ It sounded that way. “I've met her. Briefly. Not here at the mansion, or even in this country. But when Steve and I were escaping from Zola’s funny farm. I didn’t learn who she was till later on.” 

“You two sure went through some hell getting out of there, so I heard. Quite hairy! Even in the company of a full-fledged, all out superhero like Captain America. Intense danger will sometimes make a sort of...bond between people.” 

Donna Maria set the glass down, nodding. “We had to depend on one another, certainly.” _God! She guesses, or knows. And she loves this sort of thing!_ A founding member, Jan had known Steve since he was recovered from the ice. _She surely knows Sharon too. Are they friends-?_

“You know, you and he were kind of avoiding each other it seemed, last week. And you looked pretty down in the dumps; I was afraid something might be really wrong. Good to see it’s not. Or got patched up. I mean, you don’t go watch sunsets with someone, unless everything’s peachy and creamy.” 

She was growing exasperated by this. Her relationship with Jan was not the sisterhood that had budded with Wanda. Sometimes, she had the sense Jan resented her somewhat -- or harbored an amount of jealousy. She didn’t _think_ Jan had feelings for Steve, particularly -- more probably it would be about attention from men, in general. And if there _was_ a friendship with Sharon to boot… 

_Steve - you must end that relationship, so we may be honest! This is already getting awkward. And you're not the one our teammates will suspect of loose morals!_

“We had a little disagreement,” she said, white-lying, “and ironed it out. No big thing. We get along great mostly, and both love a beautiful sunset.” 

“Natch -- who doesn’t?” Jan smiled again, perky to a degree that set Donna Maria's teeth on edge. “And, it’s one of the all-time, most romantic fling things to go do with your favorite hunk! _Not_ that you and Steve are -- at least, I don’t _think_ you’re -- ” 

“ _If_ we were, then _I_ think it would be for us to say, when we chose, like any other personal detail.” It carried more of an edge than she'd intended. Jan’s eyes widened, seemingly in interest rather than shock, and Donna Maria realized she'd only confirmed what the other woman sought to know. 

Footsteps. “Ladies,” came the cool, even voice of the Vision. A reprieve, of sorts, in the form of the android Avenger: “Please pardon the interruption -- but I’ve been asked to make you aware there will be a meeting held at 8 a.m. sharp, in our conference room. Concerning the results of Jocasta’s work, and certain information that has been unearthed.” 

It was enough to legitimately end the other dialog. Provide reason to excuse herself, and head on up to bed. The Vision had not gotten into the nature of _what_ was uncovered, if he did know. It was apparently nothing that amounted to an emergency, and a briefing would be given in the morning. 

Back upstairs, she put the encounter with Jan behind her, and prepared for Steve to join her for the night. Hair, makeup, fragrance, accessory, lingerie -- all strategically considered, meticulously optimized. She felt no guilt _at all_ in giving him as big a goad as possible, to go and have that talk with Sharon. 

“Ándale, mi Tigre,” she said softly, seated at her vanity, working in front of its mirror. More ardently: “ _Vamonos_ , semental cachondo; ¡Tu corazón de oro y falo orgulloso deben pertenecer solo a Donna Maria!” 

* * * * * * * * * 

She had lit candles once again -- they both enjoyed those. Red, white, and blue. Seated in crystal holders with good, steady bases. So that they wouldn’t topple, should the furniture on which they sat rattle from proximity to the bed. 

The impending meeting hadn’t diminished their interest in each another -- only served to heighten it, if anything:

Donna Maria’s fingers moved across Steve’s skin. He made an involuntary sound as her hand wrapped about his hardened organ. Giving a gentle but firm squeeze -- with a smile as it made the head bigger, elicited a more emphatic grunt. She saw his lust clouded gaze, before lowering her head and coming forward. He trembled then, as her tongue tip explored the nerve underside of the thick crown; making a throaty, pleasured sound in response. After a time she ceased and rose back up. 

"Does Sharon do it like that?" she asked of him, savoring how those paradise-blue eyes fixed on her as though nothing else existed. 

"You don’t do anything like Sharon,” was his breathless reply, as he buried his face in her bosom.

She smiled down at him, with a feeling akin to what a super-dedicated athlete cradling the first place trophy might know. Her arm enfolded his head, stroking, sighing, as he kissed and licked within her cleavage. Shortly, she pried him gently from her and pushed him back. She reached up to undo the clasp on the string of pearls around her neck. Donna Maria knew how her raised arms stuck her breasts out, and so maintained the pose, feeling Steve’s attention as if it had a physical presence.

"Mm. What are you up to?" 

"Oh, you’ll see.” She took the pearls, lying down at the edge of the bed, knees flexed up and apart. She placed them between her legs, making a vertical line that bisected her mons. 

"Here," she said saucily, “I have a job for you. Come in front of me.” Once he had, she instructed “Hold each end. Like that. Good. Now tug, slowly -- back and forth." 

Steve did as he was told, watching avidly as the pearls sank one by one into the fissure of her labia, to reappear at the bottom: 

" _Oh -_ keep doing it," she entreated, eyelids fluttering, loving the feel and the mild, pretty sort of kinkiness. “Slow, even. Just like that.” The strand soon shone in the light, coated in her lubrication.

"Wow," he approved, licking his lips, his breathing deepened. 

"Yes, darling," she coaxed, head falling back. "See how wet they become. Don’t they glisten in the light?"

"Uh huh," he acknowledged thickly, seeming entranced by the back and forth movement of the pearls through her moist, heated slit. 

"Ah, ahh -- mm, mm -- ah -- I need _more_.” 

He knew what she meant. With delicacy he removed the necklace, placing it aside. Then bent over to caress her breasts, kissing his way down her torso, until his mouth touched the insides of her thighs. Donna Maria's eyes closed in anticipation as Steve’s hands shifted to behind her knees, lifting her legs. His mouth moved up, covering the black, bikini trimmed hair, covering her high mound. Donna Maria’s hips started to tremble as his head burrowed down into the heat and wet, tongue pulsing persistently in the same place. She threw her head back, the thin cords at the side of her neck standing out, her lips open, teeth bared. Thighs quivering as her tension and pleasure mounted. 

Until Steve’s head came up, chest heaving with the bellows of his breath. Donna Maria gasped, moaned, frustrated by the loss of stimulation. But the time was ripe, wet as she was, and she wanted him inside her _so_ badly -- 

Steve snatched the rubber he’d set out, hastily tore the package, slipped it down over that big hard on. He leaned over her again, and she put her arms about him, drawing him upward. Rubbing him against her till she had no choice but to arch up and impale herself on him; hips thrusting wildly off the mattress, breath whooshing out of her with an audible rush. Inflamed with the sensations coursing through her. 

Soon Steve was stroking down to meet her own frantic thrusting: their hips hot in contact, the warm salty sweat dripping down his bulging muscles, beading along her working flesh. She began to cry out - loud as she dared in the mansion - grasping him tightly with her legs, unable to bear the thought of him letting up on his piston-thrusting. Their rhythmic grunts picked up in tempo, the motion of their hips grew ragged and indistinct. Donna Maria sighed out her passion in jets -- pressing the heels of her hands against Steve’s buttocks, urging him to thrust himself deeper, deeper, _deeper_ : 

“¡lléname! ¡Monta tu yegua con fuerza!”

“Donna Maria! Oh baby -- _baby!_ ” 

His face was ruddy with effort. So very near to losing his seed -- yet she _needed_ him to hold out longer. To attain climax doing missionary, she required her man to ride high enough on her pelvis, to get a good friction going, so her clit was not being neglected. As it wasn't now... 

“Sigue así...¡sigue, _sigue!_ ”

She heard Steve’s groan, felt him jerk with vigor. And for a moment despised the rubber, wishing that he might fire unhindered into her quaking depths. She had to bite down in order to stifle a yell of exultation. 

Damp with perspiration, gasping and exquisitely spent, they lay together afterward. Eventually getting into the sheets to snuggle, and enjoy further the afterglow. 

“How ‘bout a little music?” she asked him. 

“Yes...that’d be great.”

Turning on the radio via the remote, she station surfed till coming across a tune she liked. 

_...these reckless thoughts of mine are following you  
I've fallen for you, whatever you do  
'Cause, baby, you've shown me so many things that I never knew  
Whatever it takes, baby, I'll do it for you  
Our love is alive, and so we begin  
Foolishly laying our hearts on the table  
Stumblin' in…_

Donna Maria smiled, put the remote back, turning toward Steve to rub her hand on his chest, while he caressed her shoulder. As they gazed into each other’s eyes, she thought: 

_Go ahead, Sharon Carter...try and slip the leash back on. You wanted to tame a tiger, that was your mistake. While I run at his side, and see that he is much better fed._

In spite of that increased confidence, there was yet a small, niggling doubt. She might push it down, or cover it, pretend that it wasn't there at all -- but it would remain until Steve had had that conversation. 


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Donna Maria goes undercover on an assignment both important and intriguing. One that will serve up some food for thought. As well as run her afoul of a new and guileful antagonist...

The following morning ::

Overhead track lights shed crystal-clear illumination; emphasizing the clean lines, the polished metal, the natural woods of the Avengers Mansion conference room: 

“...so yes,” Tony informed them all, via video-comm, “it is the same Cross Technological Enterprises that recently lost its CEO and founder. When his harvesting of hearts was stopped by the new Ant-Man, and a determined doctor.” 

“Hm. So the question is how these synthetic cells, that were stolen, might fit with the phyto-invigorator technology that was _almost_ stolen.” 

“It is one possible question, Steve,” Tony nodded. 

“Ah. Does that imply you’ve thought of some others?”

“You know, the Vision thought of one I think is pretty apt. I’ll let him voice it.” 

The scarlet visaged synthezoid, who wore a pensive expression, glanced up when he was addressed. “Well. We are considering here a pair of technologies which both pertain to cells. They have that in common. However, one is aimed at stimulating, enhancing plant cells; the other replacing damaged animal cells -- specifically the human sort. The former, as we were told, is yet in beta stage, with a list of bugs to be worked out. The latter much further along. And Jocasta’s data confirms its theft occurred during the hours we were busy at Pegasus.” 

Steve frowned. “Okay. I believe I see where you’re heading with this. We foiled - or maybe _appeared_ to foil -- the more or less simultaneous theft of a technology still in development, while one that _is_ pretty much functional _did_ get swiped.” He frowned more deeply. “It wouldn’t be unlike the Thinker to contrive a misdirection. That goes without saying.” 

“Like the phyto-invigorator, these artificial cells are very benign, aren’t they?” Wanda asked. 

“Right,” responded Tony. “They were originally an attempt by Darren Cross at achieving a more optimal solution for his condition, than perpetual heart transplants. The Novus-cells -- or N-cells -- are designed to graft themselves to human organs as though they belong there. Which in theory sounds great...miraculous, potentially life saving, but...” 

“But of course, there’s been nothing like enough clinical study to determine how _safe_ they are,” put in Henry. 

“I’ve been reading up on the Thinker since Pegasus,” said Donna Maria, as it struck her she had a relevant point to add, “I understand his thing is to take the work of others and twist it to his own ends. So that something benign becomes a weapon.” She glanced toward Steve who was regarding her thoughtfully, then upward at Tony on the screen. She shrugged, frowned. “They graft to organs as though they _belong_ there? I do not care for the sound of that. Not in the hands of somebody like the Mad Thinker. I mean, I’m no biochemist, but -- ” 

“But I am. And I agree. It _is_ a rather foreboding intersection of product and perverted genius,” Henry acknowledged. 

“We’re pretty clear as to the identity of the thief, though? It _is_ Moonstone?” 

“Based on the energy signature of the intangible body that passed CTE’s security systems,” Tony answered Janet, “as well as glimpses from their cams, yes. Odds are decent our darling Dr. Sofen is the perpetrator. And much unlikely she’d be so of her own initiative -- she’s a shrink, not a scientist; and she favors operating with a group.” 

Donna Maria had another thought: “It’s unfortunate the company kept the theft so hushed up -- that we only learned of it as a result of Jocasta’s efforts. Is that maybe kind of funny?” 

“Perhaps,” returned Tony. “We should certainly keep in mind how corrupt Mr. Cross had become by the end of his life. However, it's also true the firm has been in some turmoil since his death, and his son began to take the reins. Their indecision is understandable, for that and other reasons, if not something to overlook. He is, in any case, now open to our aid and advice.” 

“And you’re scheduled to meet with him?” Steve queried.

“Correct, this afternoon, 4 p.m. In my capacity as Avengers liaison and chief technologist; I made sure he understood that. But I think - in order to emphasize he’s not just dealing with a rival CEO poking around - at least one of you should come with me.” 

“Me and/or Vizh -- as the most learned, on the subject of synth-cells? Not that that’s saying a whole hairy lot?” asked Henry. 

“I don’t believe that a mutant biochemist, or a synthezoid, will be the most reassuring faces we can present. Rather, I was thinking Cap should be the one to accompany me.” 

“All right,” agreed Steve. “I’m also going to inquire with SHIELD once more, to see if they’ve made any progress with Klaw. Though even if they do reconstitute him, getting him to talk is probably easier said than done. Now what about Moonstone? Do we have any leads or clues?” 

“We do. Jocasta did find something. A lead which Donna Maria is suited to pursue.” 

* * * * * * * * * 

Just a few years earlier, the local media alerted the public to a “Latin Boom” in the Big Apple. Several things gave rise to it: the growing popularity of salsa dancing, the emergence of a new wave of politicians and activists, and - most significantly - the surpassing of the one million threshold in the city’s Hispanic population. There had been a time, during the early part of the century, when Hispanics found themselves concentrated in a handful of New York’s poorer neighborhoods. But things had been changing; certain tough-minded individuals were founding and shaping institutions, campaigns, and protests. Both to affirm their citizenship, as well as achieve justice across economic, social, and educational arenas. 

Clarita Burgos was the eldest child of a wealthy and influential Puerto Rican family. One of a largish number who migrated to the mainland in the late '40s and early '50s. Raised in a home with a father who was back and forth between Puerto Rico and New York City; adamant his children should not forget nor be ignorant of their roots. He also instilled a sense of solidarity with other Latin American cultures. Under his guidance, his daughter matured to become an acclaimed, quoted professor of sociology at NYU. One who in recent years shifted her focus to activism: _Espíritu Latino_ , a not-for-profit organization which supported the Hispanic community in a variety of ways, was her brainchild. Among the services offered was psychological counseling. A Doctor Tracy Vaccaro was employed to oversee and render it; she was also Clarita Burgos’ personal counselor. Moreover, Jocasta learned Dr. Vaccaro had on several occasions made payments to a temporary account of Karla Sofen’s, for undisclosed services... 

There were images in the data file Donna Maria perused, while seated in the study-archive following the meeting. The statuesque, leggy blonde they depicted was Karla Sofen, alias Moonstone. As herself and the former Avenger Mantis, Sofen was yet another whose powers derived from the Kree race. In this instance a gem that had been first in the possession of a previous Moonstone; a man recruited for a scheme to depose Cap as the USA’s symbolic hero. _That_ had flopped, he’d ended up in prison, and there acquired Dr. Sofen as his shrink. Who’d apparently managed, through preying on his fears, to con him into relinquishing the stone into her hands. 

_What a damned shrewd way to gain power. I might well admire the skill involved, the ingenuity, if it wasn’t so totally treacherous…_

“Hey,” said the voice she loved so much, from behind. 

She glanced back over her shoulder, as he crossed the room to kiss the top of her head, briefly massaging that same shoulder. Donna Maria was certain her temperature heightened a degree or two, as her body responded to that touch. The previous night’s passion flared in her memory, before she pulled her attention from it, adjusted her personal thermostat downward, in the name of business. Not to mention the still hanging though rapidly shredding veil of ‘just friends.’

“Moonstone’s a wily one,” said Steve, removing his hand, seemingly thinking along similar lines. “Her cunning, her understanding of the mind, make her more dangerous than powers alone. I know you’re a sharp cookie, and have your seventh sense. But even so, please take all due caution while checking this out.” 

“Of course, I will,” she assured, swiveling the chair toward him, wanting to see his face, his eyes. They were full of concerned warmth, which made her smile. Before her expression became a faint frown. 

“It’s kind of a bummer, though -- to learn of this wonderful organization, that encourages and unites we Hispanics. And to have to go in with a pseudonym, looking for a snake in their garden.” 

Steve’s expression was consoling. “I’m sorry; I can understand how you might feel about that. But bear in mind, part of this may eventually be _warning_ Ms. Burgos as to who her employee is connected to, if there proves reason to do so. And offering our protection if that’s needed. You may end up doing Espíritu Latino a real favor through this work, depending on how this plays out.” 

* * * * * * * * * 

The cab was northward bound on Harlem River Drive. Off toward the right, the thoroughfare’s namesake river was aglitter with near-noon sun. The destination was an address in Washington Heights; a neighborhood Donna Maria thought sounded appealing, based on what she had learned. A part of Upper Manhattan, it had the distinction of being the island’s highest natural elevation. It boasted more open space than many areas, with fewer high-rise buildings -- plus ample greenery to be enjoyed while biking, walking, or jogging along either of the rivers that bounded it. The overall vibe was said to be lively, with a mix of families and career driven professionals. A good percentage of both those being Latin Americans. 

The Puerto Rican migration was the first influx into Washington Heights -- the very beginnings of the Hispanic community that existed there today. Others came later, especially as prosperous Puerto Ricans began to relocate to more prestigious places. New immigrants from the Dominican Republic, Mexico and elsewhere moved into the “Barrios” which provided affordable housing and comfortable living. Lately, there was too a sort of reverse-migration: Puerto Ricans returning to buy property and invest in local businesses. 

All considered, it was not hard to imagine why the organization she was about to visit was located where it was. As the short trip neared its end, the building from which Espíritu Latino operated hove into view. It was stately looking, with rounded, column-like corners, and a corniced roof. Apparently its trio of stories also housed an attorney and a pair of social workers, all of who worked in conjunction with Espíritu. After she tipped the cabbie, Donna Maria exited the vehicle and made her way through the front door. Although she wasn’t here as Donna Maria, but rather...

“Marisa Del Rio,” she introduced herself to the well groomed, cheerful seeming receptionist who manned the front desk; a young woman that appeared to be around her own age. “Here for the very first time,” she added in Español, “I’ve an appointment for 1p.m.” 

“Certainly, Miss Del Rio. I’ve been expecting you, welcome to the offices of Espíritu Latino. Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? I can offer several traditional drinks, or coffee or water.” 

There was a noticeable accent, contrasted to how Donna Maria knew Spanish. _Puerto Rican, I’m fairly sure._ “Ah, no, that’s nice of you, but I had wonderful coffee before I came. And please, call me Marisa.” She flashed a smile, while taking a chair. “I adore your earrings.” 

“Thanks! They’re my favorite. And may I say your outfit is so cool -- it looks really good on you.” The girl grasped a clipboard, arose from the desk, began to make her way over. 

“Thank you, I got a _really_ good deal at Ahora Moda,” she accepted the clipboard. At a glance, the form atop it looked to be a questionnaire, aimed toward getting a sense of the applicant. “And, I’m trying to use my last opportunities to wear skirts, before the New York winter is on us.” 

“Ha! The seasons here can drive you crazy, until you get used to them. It took me awhile,” the receptionist remarked, resituating behind the desk. 

Donna Maria nodded, “I’m getting there. And _loving_ this fall season -- it’s so beautiful. If hard to predict, in all its changes.” Soon enough, she had completed the form, and handed the clipboard back. 

“Okay, then -- you’re in luck -- Professor Burgos herself will meet with you shortly.” 

Truly: Less than fifteen minutes later, they were ascending to the building’s upper floor via elevator. She noted both the exterior and interior button-panels were antique looking, well polished brass. And she found it a sort of charming touch, that attention to detail, given the elevator was small and spanned only three floors. The hall they stepped out into was lit mostly by natural light, from a large pane of glass set at one end. 

Abruptly, a pigeon thumped straight into it, causing both receptionist and Avenger to startle a little. 

“Oof!” observed Donna Maria, with a sympathetic wince, “Sometimes, what we can’t see is a real killer!” 

The girl nodded wholeheartedly, and led her off to the right. They strode past one door then knocked upon the next: 

“I have Miss Del Rio here…all ready for her appointment!” 

“Excellent, please, bring her in,” came a clear, contralto sort of voice with an accent identical to the receptionist’s. 

Entering, the office that waited beyond was decored pleasantly with warm-tone woods. There were several artworks, situated about, from different Latin American countries. In particular, she noted a striking macramé dreamcatcher, that she believed to be of Mexican origin, and a pottery she was fairly sure was Guatemalan, closer to her own place of birth. 

And then there was Clarita Burgos: perhaps middle thirties in age, her hair - black as Donna Maria’s own - was done in a low, twisted bun. Her face was the so-called heart-shape; slender jawline, relatively wide cheekbones and forehead. As for the eyes, there was more intelligence than heart, was her initial impression. They appraised Donna Maria candidly before the woman gave a courteous smile. 

“Hello Miss Del Rio, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat, won’t you, and let’s get to know one another a bit.” Burgos received the clipboard from the receptionist, before the latter departed, closing the door on the way out. She smiled again. “Just give me a moment to read through? Then we’ll get started.”

She took the chair, “Sure, no problem. The pleasure is mine. And like I told your employee, please, call me Marisa.” Just like herself, ‘Marisa’ hailed from Costa Perdita. There’d been no reason not to use her true birthland; indeed, her thorough familiarity with it only enhanced the credibility of her ruse. And too as herself, Marisa had… 

“...come to this country on your own. That was a gutsy, bold thing for you to do,” commented the professor-founder, looking up from the clipboard after some minutes. 

She nodded, smiling spiritedly, thinking of Steve, her real motive in doing so. “If there’s something we really want in life, I’m a firm believer in going for it. Regret is generally worse than risk, in my book.” 

“I so much agree.” Burgos seemed to appraise her a second time, before returning her gaze to the questionnaire. “And I see that, as well as having no family over here, you’re also single. Not from lack of attention or opportunity, I am sure-?” 

She waved a modest hand. “While I am a romantic at heart, I don’t _need_ a man in order to define myself, or feel complete. It’s more a matter of finding Mr. Right, you know?” Donna Maria’s eyes strayed to the rose gold band Burgos wore, already knowing that she was wed, though retaining her maiden name. Which had become easier to do in the US, in recent years, as she understood. 

“I do know,” she held up the ring, so it was easier to see. “He was worth the wait, and the work.” 

“Hm. Bravo, Professor Burgos; I think you are a woman after my own heart.” It was a little odd -- she did wish to believe that; but there was something that roused her suspicion. She strove to put a finger on it. Perhaps it was only that the eyes were a degree too cool, the demeanor a shade too slick. Nothing she should hold against the woman, really, with her position and responsibilities. And that they had only just met. 

The conversation wended into sharing things about their childhoods, and then experiences each had had as Hispanic women in this country. Donna Maria stuck to the crafted history established for Marisa, which - thanks to Avengers data systems and privileges - would stand up to any kind of background check for a time. Naturally Ms. Burgos was interested in her educational and career goals, and they spoke of those for twenty minutes or so. Until she deemed it was the right time to broach the topic of -- 

“...getting some form of counseling. I mean, on the one hand, the idea of seeing a head-doctor does make me apprehensive. But, I also feel as though I’ve got a few things I need to work through. I hear you employ a very good counselor, and seeing one of our own people would, I believe, make it easier for me.” 

It was the candid look again. Along with what seemed to be genuine empathy: “Well...there need be no shame if you do want that type of help. It can be quite productive, given a competent practitioner. And yes, I _do_ employ a very good counselor; much more than merely competent. Albeit, she _isn’t_ Hispanic. But please don’t let that put you off -- Dr. Vaccaro -- that name is Italian -- is progressive in her views, a humanitarian, and a staunch supporter of this organization. Our clients typically love her, once they get to know her. In fact...she is out of session right now, and works just down the hall...” 

Donna Maria was of course fully willing to meet the doctor. Having said as much, her host tapped the intercom that sat upon the desk:

“Hey, Tracy, would you come down to my office? I’m here with a brand new client, who possibly has interest in your services.” 

“Sure thing -- give me just a minute, and I’ll be right over,” came a cheerful, energetic response. Hispanic or no, the bit of Spanish did suggest fluency. In short order there came the approaching click of heels, followed by a knock on the door. 

“Yes, come in,” requested Clarita Burgos. 

As soon as the door opened, Donna Maria found herself _praying_ that she managed to keep all the shock she felt from her expression. The long, blonde hair seen in the pictures had been cut. Worn now in a short, smart wedge style. But that didn’t alter the stunning fact that she was _not_ the only one here under a pseudonym. 

Dr. Tracy Vaccaro _was_ Karla Sofen. 

It was disquieting that that modelesque face and form veiled a conniving, callous heart; more so that the color of the eyes was so like Steve’s. It would be easy to stare and frown, but _that_ would in no way do. Mustering the friendliest smile she could, she waved casually. Figuring if she appeared a bit nervous it was understandable. 

“Hello, doctor. I figured it was either this or an exorcist. Which my insurance will not cover.”

There may have been the barest hesitation. But then Sofen was laughing along with Burgos: 

“Well now, I have seen The Exorcist, just in case I need to improvise. But I like to think not all demons need to be driven away. Some serve to give character, if they can be taught to better behave themselves.” 

Her Spanish _was_ fluent. Sofen had been born in a poorer part of California, with a population over half Hispanic. _Is there some true appreciation, or fellow-feeling, with our people?_ Donna Maria strongly doubted it. And had now real grounds to wonder what kind of person Burgos was -- unwitting associate or knowing accomplice in…what, exactly? 

“I don’t think Marisa here has too many demons onboard,” put in Burgos. “But I _do_ think she would only benefit from some session work with you. At such a pivotal point in her life as she is.” 

Sofen nodded in an emphatic manner, while pulling up the other chair. “For sure. These are confusing, hard times, in some ways; yet there’s also _so_ much opportunity. More so than ever for women. And in coming to better know ourselves, we can be far better prepared to grab it.”

It was the very same air - slightly too cool, too slick - noticed in Burgos. Who, she had the unnerving certainty, had learned it from Karla Sofen. The snake in the garden -- out in the open, coiled in striking distance -- cold and deadly. 

The three of them conversed a time till Sofen checked her watch, then smiled at Donna Maria “It’s been so great to meet you -- I believe I can help you in your goals, if you decide you do want to do some work with me. I’ll look forward to it, if so.” She stood. “Clarita, I’ll be here for another hour. And then get a cab back home, finish my day out there.” 

_Oh, now that’s perfect...Ms. Marvel will follow you, Moonstone...so we may learn not only why you pilfered from Cross Enterprises, but also why you’ve wound your coils into Espíritu Latino..._

* * * * * * * * * 

After wrapping the appointment, setting a date for a follow-up and saying goodbye, she left the building to walk a short distance down the street. There ducking within a shadowed alley to levitate _up_. Reaching the rooftop of that building - which had a garret like structure and a vent that afforded cover, and faced only trees on the other side - Donna Maria changed into costume. The main of it already worn beneath her clothes, while the remainder - gauntlets, mask, sash, boots - were stored in tiny capsules, little larger than your typical vitamin c. A handy invention of Jan’s husband, it worked perfectly -- each article expanding near instantly upon pulling the capsule apart. And she wouldn’t need to worry about leaving behind her purse or apparel _this_ time. In spite of what she’d said to the receptionist, they were not bought by her, but rather selected from the mansion’s auxiliary clothing closet. 

_If anyone finds them here, it should be good for a ‘what the hell-?’ Though with all the swinging, wall crawling, and flying that goes on in this city, it may not be that a rare thing._

Eventually - after spotting her quarry hailing a cab, and then getting inside - the crimson clad Avenger rose swiftly toward the sky. From her aerial vantage, she trailed and watched as the vehicle made several turns before taking a thoroughfare in a southerly direction. In a half mile or so merging onto Harlem River Dr., the same road she had come in by. And from there bearing off to the west, straight into Harlem. 

Following in this manner, there was a balance to be struck: enough elevation that she wasn’t too easy to catch sight of, but not so much as to risk losing Sofen. In not too much time, the taxi turned into the lot of what looked to be a closed down warehouse. Sofen disembarked there -- and on getting out, began turning in Ms. Marvel’s direction. Donna Maria made a hasty landing on the roof, hoping she’d not been glimpsed. She was somewhat hesitant as to what to do next. Notifying the team was a good idea; on her wrist was a long-distance pager given to her for expressly that purpose. Whichever of them was on standby would come at its signal. However...

_Wouldn’t it be great to handle Sofen on my own? This malicious, manipulative woman with Kree-born power like me, yet so much my antithesis, in so many ways…_

Suddenly, a _feeling_ was playing at the edge of her mind. It wasn’t a full-blown image -- yet it felt awfully like her seventh sense -- 

Kree-born their powers might both be, yet Moonstone possessed a few she did not. Among them intangibility like the Vision. And a neat little trick of being able to transform instantaneously into costume. She knew this dangerous, new adversary had come up through the building and was behind her, even before she spun to confirm it with her eyes. 

In her silver and gold bodysuit-garb, Karla Sofen looked almost resplendent. Well, the crested, goggle-eyed helm was a bit sci-fi geeky, even if it was a simulation of what a Kree warrior actually wore. 

“Well hello Ms. Marvel. How nice to meet the newest Avenger. Or would you prefer I still call you Marisa?” 

_Shit! How..?_

Her smile was condescending. “Don’t worry. Your costume is mostly effective. Voice and mannerisms clued me in; I saw your cheeky little interview on TV. You weren’t _quite_ fast enough when I left the cab, and I put two and two together.” 

“Aha. Glad you add as well as you screw with people’s heads. Do you do Espíritu’s accounting too?” Affecting a blasé attitude, Donna Maria was evaluating her foe with the instinctual battle know-how endowed with her powers. Seeking the right opening...

“I don’t. But I can tally what’s going to happen here: One. Moonstone one, plus Ms. Marvel zero, is _one._ ” 

A painful, blinding _flash_ robbed her of sight. She’d forgotten about _that_ power; a costly mistake for which she must quickly compensate. Before -- 

She managed to dodge beneath the energy bolt that seared over her head. _Not_ having forgotten it was Moonstone’s favored attack. _How_ she managed to while blind she’d reflect upon later. Some blend of understanding and seventh sense had sufficed. Donna Maria lunged/flew forward, with all the speed she could summon, striking for where she’d last seen Sofen’s midsection. 

“Uff!” 

That expelling of breath enabled her to approximate where her opponent’s mouth and thus jaw was. Her fist connected there, and she heard Moonstone stagger and fall. The thought of doing this alone had been irresponsible. She knew what she needed to do; trigger her wrist-pager, and bring the team. 

But it wasn’t to be: Sofen was suddenly up and on her, grasping her wrist just as she raised it. There was a burst of concussive power: the pager broke apart as Donna Maria grimaced and gasped, falling over backwards, her assailant right on top of her. 

“Oh no honey. This is just you and me!” One gauntleted hand clutched Donna Maria’s throat, while the other pulled back to deliver a crushing blow. 

Again she approximated based on voice, what her senses told her. Drove her hand into the armpit of the arm holding her neck, while driving _up_ and to the side with her legs. And Moonstone was dislodged, toppling to the left onto her backside, cursing as she went. 

She _almost_ opted for a vagus nerve strike -- but in spite of her so-far success, she _doubted_ being able to manage such precision blind. They were of a comparable strength; and worse than failing, an imprecise vagus-strike might be fatal. The other option was to put distance between them, give her sight a chance to clear. Moonstone could only emit one of those flashes every twenty minutes or so. 

So she arced _skyward_ \-- straight up and up and up. Pouring on the speed to maximize the distance. But she’d made an error in judgement -- realizing that as she was struck by one of Moonstone’s bolts. A zig-zag pattern would have been _slower_ , but made her a _harder_ target. 

Senses swimming, she lost altitude. Her sight was starting to return -- enough to see Sofen heading for her. She strove to focus, attempt an evasive maneuver, just before a second bolt hit dead on. Stunned by it, Donna Maria plummeted from the sky.

Wind -- whistling past, as she hurtled toward the ground. Or rather the _buildings_ between her and the ground. She'd never tested the upper limits of her durability -- didn’t especially want to do so now. She supposed it made her vain that, in some corner of her reeling mind, she was concerned about what she might _look_ like after this kind of fall, now that she and Steve were finally getting it on. But pain and injury were yet the big incentives to avert her plunge, before the building beneath did... 

Down and down and down -- even with a supreme effort, she was unable to resume flying -- but did succeed in slowing her descent. As well as avoid the rooftop. Instead crashing straight through a terrace-roof, and into a bed of petunias: Her impact into the softer earth was merciful compared to concrete, but enough to momentarily drive the breath from her. 

Forcing herself to stand, Donna Maria did so just in the nick of time to sidestep another of Karla's bolts -- the soil next to her erupting, hurling bits of flowers and dirt upon her. 

“Oh -- you're _such_ a dirty girl!” 

Landing right behind, Moonstone grappled her, attempting to get her into a choke-hold. Reacting swiftly, she foiled it. But her nemesis was not pried loose; Karla's fingers dug into her, maintaining hold, as they both struggled and grunted. 

A _wave_ of agony shot through her body. Making her fling her head back and cry out. The intense burst delivered at touch-range was nearly overwhelming. Only Karla’s steely grip prevented her from being flung forward. And there was another consequence. Her costume’s bodice was off-shoulder; held by the material that traveled up her throat to become her mask. It was an aesthetic design - one done with Steve in mind - leaving bare her shoulders, as were the tops of her thighs. The fabric was highly durable -- but not enough so to sustain such a close, concentrated blast. Shorn at the neck, her top slipped downward. 

With a mocking “Ha!” the band of the strapless bra beneath was ripped open. Then tugged away, to expose her bosom. Moonstone’s succeeding laugh was wholehearted: 

“Look at that, pop-top. Some dude across the road’s got a camera!” 

Through pain squinted eyes Donna Maria perceived the flash going off -- once, twice - a third time. 

“Aren’t guys such dogs? Think he'll sell them? The Bugle couldn't run them, but Oui or Playboy -- ” 

The taunting became a gasp, as Sofen was elbowed in the gut. Whereupon she whirled, spurred by outrage, and decked her in the jaw a second time. Moonstone went sprawling, crashing backward into the storefront the two of them stood before. 

Having to do battle topless was _beyond_ embarrassing; getting her picture snapped all the more so. But she _couldn’t_ spare attention for it! Trying to escape would only make her target practice, like the last time. _I must put her down! Now!_

She sped in, intent on delivering a decisive blow. But she was faltering, weakened by the combined punishment she had endured. It allowed Moonstone to recover enough to use another power. Donna Maria’s attack didn’t land home, instead passing through her semi-translucent enemy as if she were air. 

“Uh - no more of that,” Sofen chided, voice imbued with an unnatural timber in her intangible state. “I’m too pretty to be a punching bag. Wow, that _is_ a nice rack. Bet your man suckles on those like a piggy.” 

Humiliated and hurting, unclear what to do, Donna Maria hesitated. Her seventh sense urged warning, but she failed to react fast enough -- 

Moonstone re-solidified. And limned in the light of a final burst, Ms. Marvel collapsed, receding from consciousness. 

* * * * * * * * * 

Awareness was creeping back in. And her ears and skin said she was indoors. It was the lack of city-sounds, along with the still air. She realized that she was bound hand and foot, upright...hands behind a pole that ran up her back. Both the pole and the cords felt metallic, cool. Her boots were removed -- she was barefoot, bare legged. Head lolling toward her nude chest. 

She stood upon concrete. Feet and toes telling her so, before her eyes began to slit open. 

“Are you awake now, dear?” 

_Moonstone._ It seemed pointless to try and bluff. Donna Maria raised her head, blinking. She was inside the shutdown warehouse -- it had to be. 

Karla’s smile was slight and smug. “You were out like a light, hon -- which was convenient for getting you in and trussed up. Go on, try those bonds, when you're ready. You’re strong, but _carbonadium_ cable is stronger. And that pole? Adamantium-alloy. Forget it.” 

She _was_ going to try. After having had more time to recover. “What -- what is this about? I could blow your cover, now. So…” 

“Yes, you could. In a perfect world, I’d kill you to prevent that. But, that’s not a good idea. Your teammates would work it out. And they appear to really like you - nothing to do with your knockers, and an easy access costume, I’m sure. Target of a vendetta? Me? Uh uh.” She turned then -- walked to a trio of knee-height canisters. Picking one up, placing it under an arm, she walked back while smiling more fully. 

“Say, you’ve not by chance seen an old 50s western, called _Flesh and the Spur?_

Donna Maria shook her head, wondering where this was heading. _God -- is there something flammable, in there? Or acid-?_

“I didn’t think so. Never mind the promising name; it’s mostly a dull cowboy flick. But there’s this one scene -- the Apaches grab the heroine -- a black haired firecracker, like you -- and stake her over an ant-colony.” 

“Really? And is that what you’ve got for me? Ants?” 

“The Apaches really did that, you know. Quite excruciating. With the right kind of ants. And what I’ve got are _not_ your garden ants. Oh, no. There’s been some interesting tests and experiments done here. These little guys are the result of one. Now I’d like to get certain answers out of you. But being the hussy you are, you’ll lie to me, without a doubt. So I’m going to soften you up. It’s _much_ harder to lie, after enough _torment_. Especially to somebody with my training.” So saying, Karla approached, setting the canister beside her captive. 

As she did, Donna Maria exerted all the strength she could bring to bear, in an effort to sunder her bonds. But to no avail. She _was_ helpless… 

“See? I told you.” Karla moved behind and proceeded to gag her. “I’d just love to hear you scream your heart out, Marisa. Or whatever your name really is. But this is _such_ a nice neighborhood. Don’t want to annoy the neighbors, do we?” 

((More in progress...))

**Author's Note:**

> TCaT soundtrack: 
> 
> ["Summer Breeze" -- Seals and Crofts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsW8rXPcnM0)
> 
> ["Heart of Glass" -- Blondie ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56_tMgR3FXw)
> 
> ["Just One Look" -- Linda Ronstadt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOjCPXtlBac)
> 
> ["Stumblin' In" -- Suzi Quatro and Chris Norman ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcyOHL4YMm8)
> 
> ["Witchy Woman" -- The Eagles ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAIAXk0z0lI) (Moonstone's theme)


End file.
